Shades of Black and White
by vampirefan1989
Summary: In a world where there is no color but shades of black & white until you find your soul mate, Ana has lived in a bleak & colorless world for twenty two years. When she takes Kate's place to interview the elusive Christian Grey, what happens when they discover they are soul mates? Can Christian learn to be hearts and flowers, putting behind his sexual proclivities? Soul Mate AU.
1. Chapter 1

_**Hi, I'm new to writing 50 Shades fanfic. I have never written anything like this before so please be kind and let me know if I did okay, or if you would be interested in more. It's essentially an AU, one of those soul mate fics where the world is black and white until they meet their soul mate.**_

* * *

 _ **Shades of Black and White**_

I scowl at my reflection in the mirror while attempting to tie my hair back neatly into a ponytail. I was supposed to be working today, doing a shift at Clayton's Hardware store where I work part-time, and yet, I had to cancel first thing this morning.

My best friend and roommate Kate was supposed to be interviewing this rich, young CEO of a major business that I haven't heard of, for the student newspaper. Unfortunately she had caught the flu suddenly last night and now, here I am, forced to take her place and do the interview for her instead of actually working.

I didn't know what to wear, so I had settled on a hooded anorak just in case it would suddenly rain, a neat ruffled blouse, and trousers. I'm not sure if its entirely appropriate, but to someone that is colorblind, should you really expect too much?

I am literally colorblind. My life, since birth, has been in a constant assortment of dull whites, blacks, and greys. But for most people these days, its how they are too, unless they are lucky and so blessed that they end up meeting their soul mate early.

My mother had been one of the lucky ones; She met my stepfather Ray two years after she had me, and then just like that, simply by being in the same room as him... she instantly found color.

I don't remember much of when I was younger, but I think my earliest memory was when I was around four or five years old. I was playing at the park with my mother Carla and my stepfather Ray. I noticed the sky was grey and white. I noticed, when I looked down at the grass, that the strands weren't the color my mother described it as.

It wasn't green like she had once described it to me, not that I ever knew what green looked like. No, it was a murky grey.

In fact, the whole entire world is built up of different shades of whites, and greys, and blacks. Monotone colors are what I see every single day of the week, upon waking. My hair looks black when I look at it in the mirror. My skin looks blindingly white. I don't know what color my eyes should be, but my mother told me they were a beautiful light shade of blue which I am unable to see until my time comes.

Apparently its what happens when you haven't met your soul mate as yet.

My mother had explained it to me when I was about eight and I had asked her why it was that I couldn't see things the way she did. We had went shopping earlier that day, and she had suggested I try on a cute little yellow polka dot dress that she had picked out. It wasn't yellow to me, but it was polka dotted. It was a light grey with black, round polka dots.

I had mentioned it to her after trying it on that I didn't understand what yellow was. She had told me it was a color, and that it was one of the prettiest colors in the world, but I wouldn't understand until I was much older. My mother met the one for her, my stepfather Ray, when I was two.

She said that after that, the world had suddenly opened up and she could see everything and all the colors in its infinite beauty.

But I'm twenty two now, and sometimes I dread that I will never get the fortune of finally meeting my soul mate and having the world become a wondrous array of colors. On the bright side, I am not the only one, at least. So far, Kate has had no luck herself in finding hers. We are both stuck in the same situation, both colorblind, missing out on all the glorious things to see in the world. I think we get as impatient as each other, most of the time.

Once I am ready and feel I look presentable enough, I head out of the bathroom, finding Kate sitting on the couch, curled under a warm blanket. Strands of her hair stick out, shiny and white. Her dark eyelashes frame shining light eyes, and, because there is no color, the freckles on the bridge of her nose are more noticeable.

"Hey, Ana," she croaks out, sitting up. She sounds terrible, her voice raspy. "Again, I am so sorry for having to make you do this today but it's really important to me."

"I know and I understand. You _definitely_ owe me big time for this, though."

"I know and I am so sorry for making you have to miss a shift at work for this, Ana," she apologizes profusely, throwing the blanket off to stand. She rushes around the table to where a whole bunch of equipment awaits for me to take with me to the interview. "So this is the recorder," she says, showing me it, "You just press the first button and it should start recording. It's a real easy set up." She pauses, blowing her nose in a tissue before picking up a piece of paper with black text that she wrote out on the computer. "These are questions I need you to ask for the article."

"Okay. I think I've got it." In a moment of vanity, I straighten out my blouse. "Do you think I look presentable enough though?"

"Of course, Ana. You look very... professional."

"I hope so. Too bad if I turn up for the interview and color-seeing people think my blouse is really loud and vivid."

"Well, it isn't like we'd actually know, would we?" She laughs, lifting up the screen on her laptop. "I mean, it isn't like we can tell what color your blouse is, can we?"

"I'm pretty sure it was meant to be white, so _hopefully_..."

I hang around her while Kate starts typing something into Google. "So here's a picture of the hot-shot big CEO guy you are interviewing, just in case you get lost and need some visuals." She clicks on an image, making it bigger. "So his name is Christian Grey and he's who you will be interviewing."

"Christian _Grey_?" I laugh. " _Grey_."

"I know, right? How ironic." Kate laughs too. I swear she is the only person who fully appreciates and gets my humor.

I come closer, scrutinizing the picture she has enlarged for me carefully.

And wow, this guy actually is the very last person you'd expect. He's way younger than I was expecting; He looks about in his mid to late twenties, cutting a very suave figure in a suit and tie. The image comes out black and white for us, of course. His hair blends in with the black background, which tells us he would be fairly dark-haired. He's Caucasian, considering how white his skin is in contrast to everything else.

"Wow," I say, unable to help myself.

"I know, right? He's quite... good-looking."

"And young, Kate? He is _way_ younger than I was expecting?"

"Yep, he definitely doesn't seem CEO billionaire material, that's for sure..."

"Anyway, I better make a move on if I want to get there on time," I say, grabbing all the stuff she has given me off the table. "I should remember how to record the interview surely. It should be fine."

"Great. Thank you so much again. Your a life-saver, Ana."

"Hey, don't mention it." I smile at her fondly. "You just rest up and feel better. I'll be back home in no time."

"Good luck."

I find my keys to my car, heading towards the front door while lugging everything with me.

Heading outside, I am brutally assaulted by flecks of white panning into my vision from the sun. I squint my eyes, racing down the steps to my car that I park out on the street. As I unlock the driver's side door, I climb in sitting the paper of questions and everything carefully in the passenger's seat.

I feel incredibly nervous for some reason and that picture of this Grey guy that Kate had shown me on Google hadn't helped in easing my nerves. I know nothing about this guy. I have no idea what he does, aside from running a very successful company. Kate would have been so much better doing this, seeing as she has been preparing for this for weeks now, but like most things unfortunately, life doesn't turn out the way you need them to. She's too sick.

The road is clear and the drive fairly enjoyable as I drive in my car towards the location Kate pointed out to me. Once I reach there, finding a decent parking space, I sit in my car for a moment, mentally preparing myself. Sucking in a deep breath, I glance up at the building where the interview is meant to take place. Grey House is written in black on the large building. It is probably the biggest building I have seen in a while, all grey, and it's daunting.

I check the time on my wrist watch, greatly relieved I am not late. I'm still fairly early, which is good. I get out of my car, locking up with holding everything in my arms. As I head in through the winding doors, I reach the reception area where a woman is standing behind it near her computer. She is very attractive- and blonde, judging by the whiteness of her hair.

If you go through life so long without knowing any colors other than whites, blacks, or greys, you begin to naturally learn to differentiate between a brunette or a blonde-haired person.

"Um, hi." I smile at the woman nervously when suddenly she glances up, arching her eyebrows at me. "My name is Anastasia Steele and I'm here to interview a Christian Grey. I'm filling in for the interview for my friend Kate Kavanagh, who unfortunately couldn't make it because she was sick."

"Just a moment please." I stand around awkwardly while she looks at something on her computer, clicking with the mouse. She's probably looking through this Grey guy's schedule. "Ah, yes, here we are, Miss Kavanagh. You're scheduled to see him in about ten minutes time. You'll need to sign in."

"Um, I'm not Miss Kavanagh," I correct her hastily. "I'm Miss Steele and I'm filling in for-"

She raises an arm, signalling to the book on the reception desk near her. "- Please, I'll need for you to just sign in there," she interrupts impatiently. Once I'm done writing in my signature, she hands me a lanyard with a visitors pass on it, which I slip over my neck. "You'll need to take the elevator up to the twentieth floor. Once out, you will find someone waiting for you."

"Okay, great. Thank you."

I walk over to the two elevators, pressing one. Once the doors open and I see its vacant, I step in, pressing for the twentieth floor. It takes about fifteen seconds to reach it. Once I exit, I look around, finding myself in another lobby area. A woman stands behind another desk, blonde yet again according to the fair shade of her hair.

"Miss Steele?" The woman asks.

"Yes, that's me."

"Great. If you would please take a seat over there, then Mr. Grey will be with your shortly. He's just running behind schedule."

I thank her anxiously, finding a waiting area with two U-shaped, stark white couches. I help myself, sitting down, taking the moment to read through some of Kate's questions. They seem easy enough. I'm so wrapped up in reading Kate's questions and preparing myself mentally that I startle when I hear a voice.

"Miss Steele?" The woman behind the desk calls.

"Um, yes." I stand up, tightening my grasp on the recorder and the paper. "Yes."

"Mr Grey is ready to see you now. May I take your jacket?"

"Oh, no thank you. It's fine."

"Very well." She smiles at me, in a somewhat friendly but forced way. "If you'll follow me, please."

As I begin following her, I start to feel more and more nervous by the second. She stops at a black door, knocking once before poking her head in.

"Excuse me, Sir, but Miss Steele is here to see you for your interview if you are ready?"

"Very well," I hear a man speak in an attractive sounding voice. I bet it's this Grey guy. "Bring her in."

My hands start to shake and I have to clear my throat quietly before stepping in when the woman holds the door open for me. I hesitate by the door, glancing around nervously. That's when I notice the man standing from his chair, crossing his desk towards me. He's smiling in a friendly way, yet the smile doesn't quite touch his eyes. It's him, the guy Kate showed me a picture of in Google Images. Astonishingly, he doesn't look any different in the photo than he had in real life, either.

"Miss Steele." He holds a hand out to me to shake as he steps towards me, and I glance down at it before moving forward to shake it. "It's a pleasure to meet you." My ears start ringing, like how it happens when you know you are close to passing out. I hadn't eaten anything for breakfast this morning, which is probably why. Lack of blood sugar.

"Yes, likewise," I breathe nervously.

"And your filling in for Katherine Kavanagh in order to do the interview for the student paper?"

"Oh, yes. She was ill today so I had to."

At our hands touch, I feel the most bizarre sensation spread through me as he shakes my hand with a firm, confident grasp. It's like static, electricity. I'm not even sure if he feels it too, but when I move my hand back, forcing myself to glance up at his face with a tight-lipped, anxious smile, that's when I notice it out of the corner of my eye.

Slowly, like paint trickling down a wall, bit by bit, the color of his suit changes. From black, straight down slowly, to a color. The grey hue starts seeping out of his skin, right before my very own eyes. When I meet his gaze anxiously, I discover he is staring at me intently, his mouth slightly parted, his eyes shining with shock.

 _Holy shit. I have finally met my soul mate._

 **So what did you think? Would it be worth continuing? I'm new at this so please be nice. Any advice would be appreciated. PS.; I didn't mean to offend about the 'colorblind' thing, I just wasn't sure how else to describe it. Basically it is a universe where everyone grows up without seeing any color until they meet their soul mate, then color forms afterwards.**


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you so much for your encouraging responses. Hoping you enjoy this one!

* * *

 _ **Shades of Black and White**_

My heart seems to race in my chest as I struggle to process this, the ringing in my ears growing more intense by the second.

 _Oh, my God. It has finally happened, just like my mother and everyone else talks about. I have finally met my soul mate and here he is, standing right before me. Christian Grey._

I wasn't prepared for this. I woke up this morning, expecting to come here to do the interview on this guy for Kate because she had gotten the flu. I hadn't expected it would mean me meeting my soul mate today, of all days. And my soul mate is Christian Grey. This man, standing before me with his hands tucked inside his trouser pockets, dressed in a suit and tie, bursting with color rather than the monotonous and dull greys and whites... _He's_ my soul mate.

It baffles me how people can react appropriately in a situation like this once it happens. God, _how_ do they react? What is supposed to happen now? No one has ever prepared me for this. Then again, perhaps this isn't something you can prepare yourself for beforehand in advance? It just... happens and captures you completely off-guard?

I feel strangely petrified as I glance down at the tape recorder and the paper I hold tightly between my arms. There is so much color, everywhere. The floor isn't grey anymore; It's filled out, with a bright and vivid color.

Suddenly I am captivated by my hands; By how flushed they are, by how... pink, I think its called? Is pink the right color for it? I have read many novels over the years; read how the main character had a ruddy and healthily pink complexion. Is that what they call this? My skin is pink?

Hardly aware of what I am even doing, I let the piece of paper with the notes Kate had prepared for me earlier slide out from my arm, hitting the floor as I bring out one hand, curling and uncurling my fingers, fixated.

I really wish I had bothered to bring my color chart with me. I have _no idea_ what all of these beautiful colors are called.

Swallowing dryly, I force myself to glance up at Mr Grey again from where he stands, staring at me. His face is strangely ashen, his eyes wide, and I know he is in shock as well. He is just handling it way better than I am.

My hands start shaking uncontrollably as my gaze catches the view directly behind him, my shallow breathing sounding far off, distant.

Even outside his office, it is no longer in soft and mild tones of grey and white. It's _everything_ , at all once. And it is so mesmerizing, all of it. I am shocked that colorblind people who finally see color don't just stand there, mesmerized and utterly captivated by their surroundings. Or maybe they _do_ , and it isn't talked about very often publicly?

I feel on the sudden verge of passing out. My hands keep shaking, my face goes flushed. I'm overwhelmed, by everything. I especially hadn't counted on this happening this morning when I woke up and stepped out the door, driving on my way over here.

"Are you all right?" His voice sounds strange, like it is muted. The ringing in my ears takes over, my heart pounding.

I glance down, my eyes noticing the lone and empty seat next to me. Without bothering to ask if it is all right, I help myself, sinking down into the cushion, focusing on breathing in and out for a few seconds, clenching my eyes shut, immersing myself into the familiar darkness under my eyelids. I have passed out a couple of times before, so I am familiar with when I am about to faint or not. It's just the shock getting to me, though, and surely not anything serious.

As the ringing in my ears passes and clears, I hear things more clearly then.

"Could I get you something, Miss Steele?" When I force my eyes open again, I see that nothing has changed. Still, there is color. It surrounds me from all angles, pushing me into sensory overload. From the floor, to _him_ , to... everything. It's simultaneously terrifying and exciting.

"Water," I hear myself breathe shakily. "I could use a glass of water, please."

"Of course."

He strides past me, opening the door to his office. As he vanishes for a few minutes, I shut my eyes again, focusing on steadying my breathing. My fingers still tremble as I clasp my hands tightly in my lap. When I hear the door shut gently, I force myself to reopen them again, looking up. He stands in front of me with a full glass of water in his right hand.

When I lift up my hand with some effort, taking it from him with a forced smile, my hand starts shaking again. I become self-consciously aware of what happens when a few drops of water splatter from the glass onto his pristine floor due to my fatigued state, but if he is bothered by that, he refrains from commenting on it.

I almost choke on the first sip of cool water as it goes down my windpipe the wrong way. I have to clear my throat loudly before glancing up at him again. Mr Grey isn't watching me; He inhales shakily through his mouth several times as he looks outside the window at the view, both hands dangling at his sides. I notice he taps the tips of his middle fingers against his thumbs on both hands repetitively.

"So you see it too now?" I bring myself to ask quietly, although I know its a ridiculous question. He must.

He turns on his side to look at me, his eyes slightly wet. "I do." His voice is soft and breathless with wonder. "I see... _everything_ now."

He moves towards his desk, pulling open one of the drawers slowly, lifting something out. I recognize it as a color chart; Everyone has one nowadays, just in case. He places it on his desk, glancing at it for a moment before looking out of the window again at the view.

"So that's what the sky _really_ looks like," he mutters quietly in astonishment, speaking mainly to himself, I think. " _Blue_."

"Blue," I repeat, the word tasting foreign and strange on my tongue as I look out towards it myself through the glass window. It feels so good to finally have an actual name to call it, to have an actual color to connect to the name. "The sky is blue."

The image forms an immediate connection to the word in my mind as my eyes flit to his suit jacket, his trousers.

"Your suit is blue, but your... your shirt is white. Your tie is grey with white stripes." I don't know why I say it, really. But he turns to glance over at me again, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips.

"Yes, that's right." He glances down at what he is wearing himself. "My suit is blue, but my... my shirt is white."

I nod once, fixing my eyes on the glass of water I am holding tightly in my hand. "Yes."

I hear Mr Grey clear his throat loudly and when I glance up, he has moved behind his desk. He sinks into his chair, interlacing his fingers as he rests both hands on the table. "I suppose we should get started, shouldn't we, Miss Steele? To the main purpose that you are here?"

It baffles me that he could even concentrate on that right now. I'm definitely not so sure I can manage, not when words seem to chant in my head, over and over: _You are no longer colorblind. You have met your soul mate. He is your soul mate, and the world is filled with colors..._

"You _do_ realize what this means, right?" I ask without sense.

"Yes, I do." He leans back in his chair, sitting straighter, his eyes holding mine intensely. _Blue_ , I think to myself. His eyes are _blue_ , I think. A softer blue than the sky. Maybe a... a blue-gray? "I am _completely_ aware of what this means, Miss Steele. However, I think, for _now_ at least, that we should focus on just what we need to do here beforehand, and then we can worry about all of that other stuff later."

"We're soul mates." It erupts out of my mouth uncontrollably.

"Yes." He glances away from me for a moment, his eyes focusing on something straight across from me. He sighs heavily as he returns his eyes to me again, a glistening warmth developing in them. "Yes, as it turns out... we _are_ soul mates."

He stands up suddenly from his chair, walking behind his desk towards me casually. My eyes follow his every movement, weirdly entranced. When he stands directly in front of me for a second, I have no idea what he's doing. But then I realize once he bends down towards the floor, pressing his lips together to stifle a smile. He picks up the piece of paper I have forgotten I had dropped, showing it to me, being careful not to touch me with his fingers.

"Don't you think you need this?"

I glance down at the piece of paper in confusion as I take it from him, my cheeks hot.

 _Oh, of course._ Kate's list of questions for the interview. I really need to get my head on straight.

"Thank you," I breathe out as he stands to his full height, towering over me. "And _yes_ , I _do_ need it. Good point."

I think he's around six feet tall, I guess at the top of my head.

"Do you mind if I record this?" I ask, my hands fumbling for the tape recorder in my lap. "It would just be easier for Kate to transcribe the interview into a written article for the student paper that way."

"Not at all."

I am hyper-aware of him as he remains standing over me while I set up the tape recorder. I glance up to meet his gaze as I lean over, placing it securely onto the corner of his desk.

"Okay. It's recording now if you're ready to begin?"

"I'm as ready as you are."

"Good." I swallow, my mouth dry.

I lift up the glass of water to my lips, draining the rest of it down quickly. He outstretches his hand, wanting to take it from me, and as I lean forward to hand the now empty glass to him, my fingers accidentally touch his. It's there again; That strange pulsing of invisible static, electricity. I notice Mr Grey doesn't take his eyes off me, not even for a second, as he steps backwards to plop the empty glass down on his desk.

I feel my heart start racing as I glance down the questions, starting from the top while that voice screams inside my head again.

 _He's your soul mate! He's actually your soul mate!_

"Okay, great." I clear my throat, before reading aloud, "You are very young to have amassed such an empire. To what do you owe your success?"

The interview goes fairly well and I think Kate will be pleased by the results I have gotten out of him. As soon as our interview is concluded and every single question Kate has written down has been raised, I lean forward to switch off the tape recorder, getting to my feet.

"Well, thank you for answering all the questions, Mr Grey." I find I can hardly bare to look him in the eyes as I grab the recorder off his table.

"You're very welcome. Was that everything that your friend was looking for?"

"Um, yes. It definitely was. Your answers were very... thorough, so thank you." When I force myself to look at his face, I discover he is watching me, in a strangely intense way. His eyes are, I think, the most amazing color I have seen so far. You could get lost in them for days, and easily.

"I could show you around, if you'd like?" he offers, though I get the suspicion he isn't usually this inviting to other people. He sounds hopeful. Anxious to, even. Maybe it's a soul mate thing, with wanting to delay an inevitable separation? "I have some free time available to me right now. I could show you around and give you a full tour?"

"Oh, I'd really like that." He smiles at me in a relieved way, walking towards the door to let me go through. "But unfortunately, _I'm_ the one short on time. I really have to be getting on home so Kate can do the article as soon as possible. She has a deadline."

I see his face fall in disappointment as he follows me through towards the elevator. "Then how about dinner some time when you are available?" I can't help smiling. This is really the first time anyone has bothered to ask me out. He reaches around the reception desk, handing me a small rectangular card. "Here's my business card with my phone number on the front. You can feel free to call me whenever you like to pick a time and date."

His persistence both startles and disarms me, but I can't deny that I like it.

"Okay, sure. I'll, um, keep that in mind."

"Tonight is just a little too... sudden for me. I have a few loose ends to tie up."

"Loose ends?" I repeat in confusion.

"Yes, loose ends." He glances down at his shoes while running a hand through his hair. He looks rather... awkward. "I'm involved with someone currently. Her name is Leila."

"Oh. Right." I feel my heart sink.

"It's just... I _was_ waiting for you, only I wasn't sure when you were going to come. I didn't even know if you _were_ going to come." His need to urgently explain himself makes my heart ache. I suppose I can understand his perspective; I wasn't sure if we were going to meet, either. I have heard that sometimes people take all their life to finally come across their soul mate.

I have heard some stories about a few unfortunate people that had only ended up meeting their soul mates once it was already far too late; when they were lying on their death bed, diseased and ill. I don't think anyone ever really knows precisely what time their soul mate will come along or at what stages in their lives they will already be at once they do.

"Do you two have children together?"

"No, _of course_ I don't. No, there is no children. There's just her... but it's nothing serious," he explains. "I wouldn't even call it an actual relationship type of thing. She's just a woman I'm seeing. We had a very... specific arrangement together."

His candid words surprise me. "Well, my mother actually had me before she met her soul mate," I say in understanding, though it is still a bit hard to swallow. "My father wasn't her soul mate, but... the person she is seeing now is, my stepfather." I force myself to glance up at him with a tight-lipped, anxious smile. "So I think I understand how it is. With these things, you never really know when it will hit you."

"How are you getting home?"

"By car. I drove here."

"Then be careful, won't you?" he says with concern. "I hear that the first time of seeing color is especially perilous. Make sure you keep your eyes on the road."

"Of course. I've always been a cautious driver."

"So dinner soon then?" He asks as he reaches out, pressing the button to send the elevator up.

"Yes. _Hopefully_ once you've finished tying those loose ends."

We stand around, waiting for the elevator to come up. Once it does, I step in, pressing the button to send me back down to ground floor level before looking at him one last time. He really is handsome, yet I'm unsure how to feel now that I know he is already involved with someone. I suppose these things happen, and I know that by experience with my mother that sometimes soul mates arrive at the most inconvenient of times, and yet, I can't help feeling guilty for the woman he will end it with, all due to me and this uncontrollable thing that has happened between us so abruptly.

He smiles at me, making my heart pick up a notch. "Miss Steele," he says in farewell, nodding once.

"Mr Grey," I reply, and finally, the doors close.

 **So here is chapter two. I hope it is okay for a first time at writing a 50 Shades story with Ana and Christian? If there is anything you would like to see in the story, please let me know. I know it is probably disappointing that Christian is with somebody, but I guess its a common occurrence in this universe. No one knows when their soul mate will come along. As like in the books, Leila will be adding in a bit of drama.**


	3. Chapter 3

Thank you so much for your encouraging responses. Hoping you enjoy this one! This is a Christian POV as well as Ana's, and I'm sorry if its really bad.

* * *

 _ **Shades of Black and White**_

 **Christian POV:**

As I watch the elevator doors close on Miss Steele, I hang around senselessly for a second, stunned by what has happened. Her voice and the way she said farewell, 'Mr Grey', it hangs in the air. I cannot believe what has just happened.

 _She_ was the one. _She_ was my soul mate. After twenty seven years of waiting, _finally_ , she had arrived. And, to be completely honest, she was nothing like what I was expecting. _Then again, was I exactly what she was expecting as well?_

At first, when I was younger, I admit that I didn't believe in the concept. It had seemed so... unrealistic, so... impossible. Yet, here it was, having only just happened to me, and showing me otherwise. There had been a long time where I think I had given up on the idea; My parents, everyone else, they had seemed to find theirs. Lately I hadn't been so sure I had one in this world, a soul mate just for me. I was starting to suspect that I was a hopeless cause and I would never find her, not in this life. I had thought that maybe I was destined to live in a colorless world forever.

But, as it turns out, _apparently_ I was wrong.

I feel uneasy at the idea of her driving home to wherever she lives, especially after what has just happened. I had heard by various news broadcasts that operating a vehicle, especially in a sudden change of color state, can make a person more prone to car crashes. Hopefully that is not the state with Miss Steele.

This is so uncharacteristic of me, being so concerned over someone's well-being. I really do have to get my head back into the game.

 _Miss Steele._

I head over towards the reception desk again where Andrea sits. If anyone knows anything about how my schedule is today, its her. "Andrea, when is my next client?" I ask her.

"Not due until another two hours, Mr Grey."

"Then have Welch on the line for me immediately."

"Yes, Sir."

I need to know more about her, this Miss Steele. No, I don't need to know _more_. I need to know _everything_.

I head back into my office, shutting the door securely behind me. I feel hot all of a sudden, like I have just been out on a sudden and spontaneous jog around the block, so I shrug out of my jacket, draping it around the back of my chair while I sit and wait for the call. In order to distract myself, I pull the color chart sheet back out from where I keep it inside my desk drawer, swiveling my chair towards the window.

Even more difficult to swallow than the fact that my soul mate ended up coming into my office today, is that everything is filled with color now. Twenty seven years I have gone by without it and... _now_ , everything is beautiful. I can see everything now. The world no longer seems so dark and bleak. No more coal black surroundings or white as sheet skies.

 _Orange_ , I realize, squinting up the sun through the window. The sun is orange and yellow and white; a mixture of all three.

 _Brunette_. She was a brunette. Her hair was brown, in a tight ponytail, loose limp strands tucked in behind her ears. The anorak jacket she was wearing over her white blouse was green. _Jade_. A milder green. Her skirt was-

My phone buzzes, and then my assistants voice comes on the line. "Mr Welch is on the line for you now, Sir."

"Excellent, Andrea. Put him through."

"Yes, sir."

There is another clicking noise as Welch comes onto the line. "Welch, I need a background check. Preferably _immediately_."

It takes about half an hour for it all to be faxed through. I send Andrea in to give it to me, and once she leaves me alone with the papers, I lean back in my chair, going through all the information.

Her name is Anastasia Rose Steele. She is twenty two years old this year, having only just graduated with a diploma in English Literature. I have her social security number, her bank account balance, and her current residential address which tells me she lives in Vancouver. I also learn that she is currently employed at a hardware store called Clayton's.

Her biological father and mother divorced when she was around one years old, and then her mother got remarried to a man called Raymond, who is now Anastasia's stepfather. This must have been the man she was talking about, with that story she told me of about how her mother had met her soul mate when she had already been born.

But that is really all I need to know, for now. After all, I gave her my business card.

She'll have to call me to set a time for dinner eventually. I fold up the papers carefully, slipping them into the first drawer of my desk. Already, I seem unable to get her out of my mind, which is both very frustrating and extremely unlike me. Usually I have good grasp on my feelings, knowing when not to get too attached. Maybe it's a foolish soul mate thing?

You meet your soul mate, and then... wham. All other previous thoughts and concerns are erased, to the point where all you can seem to think about is _her_. It is definitely going to make getting through today a particularly trying one; I have another meeting scheduled in the afternoon, and how the hell am I supposed to properly concentrate when all I can seem to do right now is think about her, replaying our conversations when I had her in here for the interview over and over in my head?

I even feel absurdly anxious, wondering if and when she will follow through and call. I never get anxious, not for anyone. I've never liked waiting for someone to return a call either, though. At least that trait within me hasn't changed.

But I can't escape the one little reality. I have some definite loose ends to tie up, hopefully this evening. There is someone else in the mix, someone else involved that I also need to be concerned about. I don't even know where I will start with having the conversation I need with Leila, but having spent time with her for the last three months due to our contractual agreement, I know how she is. Leila is prone to overreaction and is very sensitive.

If there is one thing I know that will transpire out of the conversation I know we must have tonight, it is that there will be tears. And _a lot_ of them.

000

When I get home, she's there, always on time. Leila knows I'm not very good at the whole waiting game. If there is one thing I can rely on when it comes to her, it is that she is always punctual and early.

She stands from the couch once she hears me get in, her hands folded out in front of her, her head low towards the ground, her shining brown hair falling in her face. She doesn't dare look me in the eyes. _Just how I like it._

"Would you like me to wait in the playroom, sir?"

"No, that won't be necessary. Not tonight," I tell her sternly. "But what I _would_ like is for you to take a seat and be mindful of keeping your hands to yourself."

I have never been particularly good with heart-to-hearts. My approach has always been that similar to business meetings, so I try to conduct it in that way. People have always commented that I don't seem to have a heart, that I am cold and aloof in the most inappropriate of times. _And perhaps they are right on that?_

She sits down on the couch, head still low, a surge of pleasure racing through me with how obedient she is. I leave her hanging for a moment as I undo my tie, stripping it free from my collar. I had tried rehearsing mentally what I was going to say in my head all day, yet right now, in the moment, my mind is blank and I have no idea what to say.

I sigh loudly as I sit next to her. _How am I even meant to say this without sounding like a hardhearted bastard?_

"I know we agreed on a six month trial for you to be my Submissive, but I am afraid we can no longer do that," I begin, deciding to say whatever comes to mind, regardless of how wrong it sounds. "We can no longer do this anymore. I'm sorry." My tone comes out wrong; I hardly sound sorry in the slightest. "It's been... a good three months with you but... this just cannot go on any longer."

Her body stiffens as she lifts her head slowly to look at me with her dark brown eyes. _Brown_. Her eyes are brown. It is funny how things seem so different once you are able to see color.

"I met my soul mate today. I can see _everything_ clearly now."

"Your... your soul mate?" Her voice is small, hurt. "But I _am_ your soul mate?"

"No, you're not. We both know that." Surely, she has to know that? She must have known it ever since we agreed to this. I am not her soul mate, and she isn't mine. Otherwise, if she _had_ been, if _we_ had been, we would have seen things far differently than what we had. "I think we both knew that, even while we agreed to undertake this together. We both knew it and _still_ , we decided to take the risk." I hesitate, watching her face carefully. She's crying, I realize. Softly, quietly. Her body trembles as tears start trickling down her face. "That is why we can no longer resume with what we are doing, Leila. I'm afraid that our contractual agreement will need to be called off early. I hope you can understand?"

I peer down at my hands, tapping the tips of my fingers together as I steeple them, because it suddenly becomes too painful to have to endure watching her cry. They were wrong after all, I guess. I am not completely heartless and devoid of anything.

"We _both knew_ that there was always a likelihood of something like this happening, because when we met... still we were colorblind. We knew it would happen, either with _you_ eventually meeting yours, or _me_ with mine. We can't resume this any longer, because... I can't see anyone else. I'm not capable of it, as you know. It's just... _her_ now. It can _only_ ever be her now."

"Who is she?" she whispers tonelessly.

"It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it _does_ ," Leila insists desperately. "I _need_ to _know_ what her name is."

I can't see why it would hurt if she knew. There would be no harm in her knowing.

"Anastasia," I confess uncertainly after a second. "Her name is Anastasia Steele." She starts crying again, but this time, her cries are louder. It makes my heart clench in pity for her. "We both know this is how the world works," I continue softly, trying to make her feel better. "It has absolutely no reflection on you whatsoever. I just... I can't resist this, and you _know_ that. It isn't the way this thing works. It would cause more... pain in the long run if we tried to continue with this when _she_ is out there for me now. I can't try to resist or forget about her because..." I tap a finger against my temple meaningfully, " _She_ is deeply ingrained within _here_ now, in my head. My priorities have shifted and all I can see is _her_ now."

"So you don't want _me_ or _this_ anymore?"

"It has nothing to do with me not wanting you anymore," I explain to her with irritation. "It is just how this world has been, for a very long time. No one else exists for me now, and I can't... _want_ or _be with_ anyone else but _her_. Do you understand?"

She starts crying again tragically and deciding I can't take it, I move closer to where she sits, wrapping my arms around her. I end up holding her until she feels better, with her head resting in my lap, stroking her hair.

"What can _she_ give you that I can't?" she asks brokenly after a long time, her cries muffled in the fabric of my trousers.

" _Color_. She has given me... color."

Leila has always been so fragile, so sensitive. I just hope that she will find her very own soul mate shortly before worst comes to worse, and it ends up killing her.

* * *

 ** _ANA POV:_**

When I get safely home, I step inside, hearing the TV going off in the living room as I hang my jacket up on the clothes rack. I am dying to fill Kate in and finally reveal to her what has happened, yet I can't help taking my time, stepping slowly around the apartment in wonder.

I take it all in with literal brand new eyes.

The walls are a soft yellow, the ceilings the same.

"I'm back!" I call out to her excitedly, carrying the tape recorder and piece of paper with her questions with me. I find Kate in the living room, still huddled in her blanket from earlier, a mug of store-brought soup in her hand. Even Kate appears amazingly different with color. Her hair is blonde, just as I had always originally suspected it was, but it is a yellow-white.

"How did it go?" she asks with interest, watching me carefully. She seems so much sicker now that I can see her in color; Her nose is rimmed red, her skin pale. "Did everything go all right?"

"Better than all right. He answered all the questions you wanted answered, and tried to be as thorough with it as much as he possibly could."

"Awesome, Ana. Thank you so much!" She sits up as I hand the recorder to her, placing her hot mug of soup carefully onto a coaster on the coffee table. "So how was he like?"

I feel like laughing out loud in glee and shouting at the top of my lungs. _I can see color now! I can see you are swathed in a pink blanket, that your eyes are blue like the sky, Kate! Also, I met my soul mate and he is the very same man you sent me off to interview!_

"Well, he was very... young," I say, deciding to prolong it so that I can experience Kate's reaction better.

"Yeah, which we already established by Google Images when I showed you a picture of him, Ana?" She rolls her eyes at me with a laugh. "But how was he as a person? Was he arrogant? Full of himself?" Kate is hanging onto my every word and I decide now is a better time than any.

"Well, he was... wearing a _blue_ suit and a white shirt," I mutter under my breath, anxious to watch her reaction.

It seems to go completely past Kate for a second as she shrugs. "Yeah, but... so he wasn't horrible or conceited at all? He wasn't-" She stops talking as she suddenly makes the mental connection with my words. Her face goes ashen as she makes a loud outburst of noise, failing her hands. "Holy shit, Ana. Are you saying what I think you are saying to me?"

"Yes, I am saying _exactly_ what you think," I confess to her, grinning. "I met my soul mate and, what's more... I am not colorblind anymore! I see _everything now_!"

"Oh, my God," she laughs with a squeal of excitement. "How exciting for you! I _am so_ jealous! Who is the lucky guy? _Where_ did it happen?"

"What do you mean, 'who is the lucky guy?'" I laugh nervously. "It was Christian Grey. As it turns out, the guy I went to interview for you was my soul mate!" I am so thrilled that my voice keeps wavering and sounding funny. "I wasn't expecting it at all, but... it _just_ happened!"

"Wow. So what happens now that you two are, you know... _destined_?"

I shove a hand into my side skirt pocket, pulling out the business card he gave me. "He gave me his number on his business card and invited me out for dinner, Kate. I just have to call him to pick a time and date so that we can both go out together."

"Wow. But that's good, right?" She scrutinizes my face closely. Maybe I am not being as excited as I should be? "So why aren't you happy?"

"I _am_ happy. He just... he admitted to me that he is seeing someone at the moment," I explain, disappointed. "We can't go out tonight because he is apparently ending things with her." I force a smile onto my face, breathing in deeply. "But other than that, everything's great. I can see what color your _hair_ is now! And _your eyes_!"

 **Hope you enjoyed this one? Sorry if it was done badly. Thank you all for being so kind. I haven't written fanfiction before, certainly not a Fifty Shades fanfiction, so it's so encouraging how kind you all are. Christian and Ana will have their date next chapter :-)**


	4. Chapter 4

Sorry I took so long to write another chapter. I lost my email which was frustrating but have resolved it now. Thanks for the response, I truly did not expect that.

* * *

 _ **Shades of Black and White**_

First thing I do, is call my mother. If anyone knows anything about this sort of thing, its my mother and I feel as if I need to have a good talk to her. I know she will be pleased for me. I head into my bedroom, closing the door for some privacy while I find her number in my contacts.

She answers on the third ring. "Hello, honey. Everything all right?"

"Hey, Mom. Something happened today."

"What is it, honey?"

I press my lips together, suppressing a wide grin. I know what her reaction will be to the news. "Well, I am no longer colorblind. I can see colors now."

She makes a loud noise of excitement on the other line, then I hear her telling my stepfather the news. "Tell her congratulations," I hear Ray exclaim happily.

"I heard Ray. Tell him thanks."

"Wow, so... how did it happen?" Mom's voice quivers with interest.

"Okay, so I interviewed this guy for Kate because she's got the flu and she wasn't feeling very well. I didn't even realize he was the one until we shook hands. Then color happened."

"That's great, honey. Are you going to see him again?"

That's the main issue that I have. I don't know if its normal. Well, it has to be normal, seeing as my mother was with my father before she met her soul mate in Ray. "He was in a relationship right now so he said he has to end things before we can actually start. Does that usually happen?"

"It can. And, you know me, I got married to your father before I met Ray and color happened."

"Did you love my father?" I ask her curiously. She has never really talked to me about that side of it before.

"I felt I did. But things were different after he died and I met Ray. I loved your father but... with your soul mate, its more... intense. Of course I felt bad, as if I was betraying your father because he had only been gone for just under a year but these things happen, honey. You can't fight it."

"I feel kind of bad for the other woman though," I admit to her uneasily. "I mean, he's ending a relationship because of me, because of... what we are. I feel terrible knowing that I am the reason he is probably going to break this other girls heart."

"Well, you shouldn't feel bad," she says sympathetically. "This is how it is since the beginning of time. There has been no records in history of someone denying the soul mate bond. I don't think its humanly possible and, unfortunate as the circumstances are, this other woman will have to understand. It's the risk you take if you choose to be in a relationship with someone while knowing they aren't your soul mate."

She's right. As far as anyone knows, there has been no record of anyone fighting the soul mate bond. It's apparently impossible, and the connection always wins out in the end.

"He gave me his number," I tell her, grabbing the thin card out of my skirt pocket again. I run my finger along the edge of it. "I just don't know whether I should wait to call him."

"Well, you'll have to call him sooner or later, honey. It will only make it worse if you don't. I couldn't even last a week without seeing Ray. You feel the... need to be close after a while. It isn't something you can fight. Maybe you should think of calling him later tonight? Just hearing his voice will be soothing?"

"Okay," I agree hesitantly. "I'll try call him. I better go, Mom."

"Okay, love you. Enjoy it while it happens. Try not to over-analyse it too much. Just go with it."

"I'll try. Love you." She hangs up and I stare at the business card he gave me, filled with indecision.

Should I try to call him? I know he would want me to and, strange as it is, I know it would be nice to hear his voice and restore it into my mind. I'm just not sure if calling him would be inconvenient right now, especially after he mentioned about tying those loose ends. Would it really hurt if I did call him? He would understand, wouldn't he?

Taking my mother's advice, I manually type his number into my phone. Before I can lose my nerve, I press the call button while sinking down onto my bed, my heart starting to race.

He answers on the forth ring. "Yes, this is Christian Grey speaking?" He sounds busy, like I'm interrupting him. Maybe I shouldn't have called after all? My thumb hovers over the end call button. "Yes?" he says sharply, and I realize I am just being weird, breathing into the phone. What am I doing?

"Yeah, hi. Um, this is Ana. Ana Steele. We met today? I'm kind of your-"

"-Soul mate," he finishes for me, his voice warming. "I was wondering when you would actually end up calling." He sounds relieved now that he knows its me. He doesn't sound as if I am intruding at all. Still, its polite to ask.

"Is this a bad time to talk?"

"No, not at all. Right now is great." It's the weirdest sensation, listening to him speak. Mom was right; It is soothing. All self-conscious thought seems to leave me. I feel immediately comfortable, a strange tingling sensation making my skin crawl. "How are you?"

"I'm pretty good."

"You arrived home safely then, I take it?" He's referring to the first drive home without being colorblind.

"Yeah, I did. It was... different driving home now that I can see everything. I didn't even need to read the letters on the lights anymore." The street lights, to help those that are colorblind, actually tell you at intersections when to go. If the lights are red, they say stop. If green, go. Otherwise, if they didn't, there would be so much danger and crashes on the roads. "It's going to take a while to get used to." I get the sense that I am rambling nonsense, only he doesn't seem to mind.

He laughs, low and short, the sound making me shiver as it fills my ear. "Yes, I know what you mean. It's going to take some time."

I hesitate, a silence falling between us. Should I ask him about ending things with the woman he was seeing now or would that be inconsiderate? I wouldn't want to pressure him, after all.

But then, as if our thoughts are the same, he says, "I tied those loose ends as soon as I got home."

"Oh." I try not to sound too happy about it, despite being a little pleased, however wrong of me it may be. "How did it go?"

"It was fine," he says shortly, and I get the feeling he doesn't want to talk too much about it. It's understandable though; I guess it is his own personal business. "Have you decided when would be a suitable time to have dinner?" He sounds impatient and I can't help smiling to myself. "When are you available? Tomorrow?"

"I just have to work tomorrow until five. But after that I'm free for dinner."

"Where do you want to have dinner then?" It's nice and something that has never happened to me before; a man being so persistent to have dinner with me. But Mom was also right about the separation thing, I suppose. You can't avoid seeing your soul mate for too long. Really, why would you want to? "Would you prefer somewhere locally to where you live?"

"Locally would probably be best. That way, once I finish my shift, I can meet you for dinner straight afterwards."

"Where are you living right now?"

"Vancouver."

"Then I'll look up restaurants in that area and text you the location. Just let me know what's most suitable for you."

"Okay," I agree. "That sounds great." Another silence passes between us. What to say now? I strive for something to desperately say to break the silence, even although the silence doesn't feel uncomfortable between us. My heart feels as if it is pounding in my chest with every second of being on the phone with him, the blood thrumming.

"Can you feel it too?" he asks softly, beating me to it. "Or is it just me?"

"Feel what?"

"I'm not quite sure how to explain it." He starts to breathe heavily on the other line. "But it's... _something_."

"The blood?" I guess, wondering if its what he means. "I feel like I can feel the blood actively moving through my veins while talking to you and having you on the other end of the line."

"Yes, exactly like that. Like I wasn't even aware of it until I heard your voice when you first started talking."

"Yes, I feel it too," I breathe. "You aren't the only one." Mom never filled me in on these strange feelings though. Is it normal? Are we meant to be feeling like this? "So tomorrow then?"

"Yes. I'll text you a few locations. Just tell me which restaurant you would prefer."

"Okay. I'm looking forward to dinner with you then."

I know I should probably hang up now, only its as if my thumb won't cooperate with me. My body doesn't want me to sever the connection of us speaking together on the phone. But he must be stronger than me, because he does it himself, hanging up. At the sound of the lost connection, I feel a terrible hollow ache in my heart.

000

Christian texts me a few of the addresses of restaurants in the area and I pick the one I know I can easiest get to once my shift at Clayton's Hardware has finished. I feel in a state of distraction as I work, manning the register as well as restocking the shelves and pricing stock.

I feel so anxious for the three hours to finish already so that I can go and see Christian at the restaurant. I feel impatient and edgy for the time to hurry up, for it to happen. It's scary, feeling this way when I have never felt like it before towards someone. Hopefully it is just a natural part of this connection.

By the time my shift at Clayton's finishes, I sigh loudly with relief, heading into the staff room. I take off my apron, hanging it up onto the rack, then head into the employee bathroom to freshen up for dinner. I untie my hair from its ponytail, deciding to keep it out in long waves, then rummage around into my bag, finding my lip-gloss. I put some on, breathing deeply, a knot in my stomach that refuses to leave.

I don't know if what I'm wearing looks good enough for dinner with my soul mate, but I hope it does. I'm wearing black jeans, flats, a blue sweater with my trench coat over it because it was rainy this morning. Bracing myself, I slip my bag over my shoulder and head out, reaching my car in the parking lot.

My car, as it turns out, was not the color I thought it was before. It isn't a yellow as I had assumed; it's a light blue. There are a lot of scratches and paint missing on the sides that I never noticed before either when being colorblind. It was another surprise to look at when color was given to me; The state of my old BMW is terrible, but it gets me to where I need to go.

I begin to feel nervous once I find a place to park at the restaurant, though I know its silly. If this thing is right, we are meant to be. We are destined. Maybe its just the normal first date jitters? I haven't ever been on an actual date with a man before, so I'm not totally sure what to expect. Or how to feel once I see him again.

I lock up, heading into the door of the restaurant. I feel strangely breathless, as if my lungs aren't capable of possessing enough oxygen in once I get to the reception desk.

"Mr Grey has already arrived," the woman behind the desk informs me. "Please, follow me. He has reserved one of the more private seating arrangements."

I follow her into the dining section, breathing in deeply, my hands trembling for some reason. When we enter past a point where it is sectioned off and more secluded, I finally see him. I feel flustered and fluttery when I spot him already sitting at a table by the window, waiting for me. He stands up from the chair the instance he recognizes me, a faint smile playing across his lips.

He's wearing a dark blue button up dress shirt and grey trousers. He has what appears to be a brown suede high-collar jacket on over it. Casually dressed, but like he has put effort into trying to look good for the occasion. Somehow, I seemed to have forgotten how good-looking he is, how handsome.

 _Wow. He's my soul mate. Thanks to him, he has given me a new, brighter world of color._

I can't help smiling back at him when he moves to pull my chair open for me.

"Glad you could make it," he says, once I sit, plopping my handbag down on the floor beside me. The host must have automatically taken it as her cue to leave, because it takes me a belated moment to realize she has already disappeared.

"Thank you for inviting me," I say nervously once he sits as well, in the seat across from me.

"You look stunning," he says, and I notice his eyes move down the front half of what I'm wearing.

"Thank you," I mutter awkwardly. "You do, too," I add, then feel like an idiot. "I mean, if you can call a guy stunning, of course?"

"I wouldn't exactly say stunning," he says with a laugh, and the sound of his laughter seems to float over me nicely, making me feel less nervous and more comfortable. He has a wonderful laugh, an even better smile.

He stares at me, the intensity of his gaze overwhelming. But I can't help staring back. It's as if my eyes don't want to look away and it appears as if it is the same for him as well.

"Blue," I blab out nervously, and he leans across the table slightly, as though to hear me better.

"What's that?"

"Your shirt. It's blue."

"Yours is blue also," he points out, pressing his lips together to stifle a smile. "And your nail-polish is orange." I have to wonder if people do this all the time, when they first start to see color. Speaking about it out loud, it doesn't seem strange at all. It's just familiarizing yourself with colors and putting a name to them.

I notice a bottle of wine on the table and two glasses.

"I ordered wine for us already, I hope you don't mind," he explains, seeming to notice my questioning expression. "It's a nice mellow red wine. I thought you would appreciate the taste of it."

"I don't drink wine much so its probably best that you did order for me. I wouldn't know what wine to choose anyway."

"Shall we have some now?"

"Sure, that would be lovely." Christian busies himself with pouring us both a glass of the red wine each. He slides mine closer to me across the table, his eyes bright and avid.

We end up lifting our glasses and taking an experimental sip of the wine at the same time, like we're twins, our gazes holding each other's. I swallow the mouthful down, flushing.

He swallows his mouthful, licking his lips. "What do you think of it?"

"It's very nice. Mellow, as you say. Not too potent. It was a very good choice so well done."

He smiles at my praise, something shining in his eyes. "As I said, I'm glad you could make it. I was almost beginning to suspect that you wouldn't end up showing."

"Why wouldn't I have ended up showing?" I ask in confusion.

"I don't know." He shrugs, his fingers turning his glass over and over by the stem. I think he's nervous; Every bit as nervous as I am. "It was just a feeling." He clears his throat gently, as if he has something caught in it. "So Ana... tell me about yourself."

"What's there to know?"

"Everything." He takes another sip of his wine, his eyes still on mine. He swallows the wine down, the muscles in his throat twitching. I can see a patch of hair on his chest with the way the two buttons on his shirt are undone. "I want to know _everything_ about you."

"That would take all night," I try to tease, stunned by his intensity.

"Still, I think its safe to say that we have all night, don't we?"

"I suppose that's a fair point." I take another sip of my own wine and it seems to take the dryness out of my mouth perfectly.

I try not to smile as I place my glass back down onto the table. I become aware of the music playing faintly in the background of the restaurant then. It so happens to be one of my favorites and the woman's voice flows around us heavenly.

"This happens to be my favorite operatic piece," I admit quietly.

Christian falls silent, listening carefully. Then his eyes flash with recognition. "Liebestod," he mutters, nodding. I'm surprised he recognizes it himself. "I'm familiar with it. Tristan and Isolde's final scene. Oddly enough, it happens to be one of my favorites as well." I cannot believe it; that we both like the same music, that he knows where it's from. "It's a beautiful piece, isn't it? Haunting but beautiful."

"It is. It's very beautiful, especially with the violins and the way she sings. So it's one of your favorites as well?"

"It is."

"Well, that seems to be one thing that we have in common then," I say in surprise. "I wonder what else we have in common?"

"I don't like coffee," he says off the top of his head. "I'm more of a tea drinker."

"Really?" I cannot believe it. "I'm mainly a tea drinker myself. I don't like spicy food."

"Neither do I," he confesses without hesitation. "I absolutely hate spicy food. Siblings?"

"No, I'm just an only child."

Christian's face falls slightly, though his eyes are shining with mirth. "We're not alike in that aspect then. I have two siblings; one older, one younger."

"Damn. So that's one thing we don't have in common so far, being an only child."

It's so eerie, how much we seem to have in common already. Or is that supposed to happen? Is that what makes us soul mates- all those little things? To know we already have so much in common, as far as a few likes and dislikes, it's spooky.

 **I'm sorry again for taking so long with a chapter. Now that I wrote down my email and remember my account, I won't forget again. I would love to know what you think, if you like it or are still interested in reading it.**


	5. Chapter 5

_**Thank you heaps for the reviews and alerts. So kind of you! Glad to know you like the story while its a bit different to the actual story of Ana and Christian in Fifty Shades. Hope you like this one.**_

* * *

 _ **Shades of Black and White**_

"So tell me about your family. I know you said that your mother had you before she met her soul mate and found color?" He changes the subject so quickly when I'm still left behind, amazed by how much we already have in common with each other, despite how basic those similarities may be. It takes me a moment to get my head straight.

"Yes, that's right," I explain, though I'm not sure why it fascinates him so much. He seems far more fascinating to me. "My mother was already married and had me before she met Ray, my stepfather and her husband now."

"She still married him despite knowing your actual father wasn't her soul mate?" He sounds surprised and, I suppose, when you think about it, it is strange that my mother married my dad despite knowing he wasn't her soul mate. I guess life isn't so simple, though. People do things for all sorts of reasons.

"I guess it must be sort of... complicated," I say slowly. "She hasn't really spoken much about why she did that but I know she loved my father in her own way. I think maybe they felt obligated to marry because they had me as their child."

He strokes around his chin with his fingertips, his eyes squinted at me pensively. He's so captivating to look at, his eyes especially. It's as if he can't get enough of looking at me and, frankly, its humbling. "And so where's your father now?"

"He died." Christian nods at my words with an air of sympathy. "I don't remember him or got to know him obviously, because I was barely one when he did die. He was in some sort of accident, I think. I remember my mother telling me that he died while working for the marines." There is also another person that is important in my life that I know I should mention about, though it will probably bore him. "I also have a grandmother and she's practically my most favorite person in the world. Her name is Rose." Even speaking of my grandmother, it makes me feel so much fondness for her.

"How old is she?"

"She's seventy six and she's very stubborn and opinionated for an old woman, but she is also incredibly sweet too. She will probably be demanding to meet you very soon." I bet my mother is telling her what has happened with me no longer suffering from monochromacy and that I have found my soul mate right as we speak.

"She sounds like a character then," he says wryly. "This Rose."

"Oh, you have no idea." I laugh at the understatement. "She's become very... pessimistic lately. I'm not sure if that's just to be expected due to old age, but her soul mate passed away recently. My grandfather."

"Oh. How long were they married for?"

"Over sixty years, which is an incredibly long time. He died of a heart attack last June."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"After he died, she kind of... regressed a bit." I don't even know how to explain it properly. "She started complaining about her eyesight deteriorating after Jack- her husband and my grandfather- passed away. She said that colors started getting dimmer and that her vision felt blurrier. My mother took her to a doctor and they sent her to someone who specializes in eyesight and that sort of thing, but when he checked her out, he couldn't see anything noticeably wrong. So she's completely colorblind again now."

"She reverted back to being colorblind?" Christian sounds shocked. "Do they know any reasons of why that was?"

"No, there were no reasons given."

The doctors hadn't revealed much, but after speculating throughout the months, I think I have a feeling why that is. It must be what happens for us naturally when we lose our soul mates. It's just ironic how, when upon meeting our soul mates, they give us color. Then as they die, our color fades along with them. It couldn't be purely coincidental.

"I think it was because my grandfather passed away, though. When you think about it that way, it sort of makes sense. When we meet our soul mates, they give us color. Then when they pass away and die, color dies along with them."

"I've never actually met someone whose soul mate has died before," he admits. "You must be right, though, with how... color leaves as your soul mate dies. I can't even begin to imagine it."

I realize we are talking about something so macabre and dismal. I try to forcibly change the topic, "So tell me about _your_ family now. You have two siblings, you said?"

"I do. My older brother, Elliot, he is in the construction business, while my little sister Mia is basically still trying to find herself. She's been travelling around Europe for the past two months."

"And your parents?"

"My father Carrick is a lawyer, while my mother Grace is a pediatrician. They're soul mates. They met twenty five years ago when they so-happened to be in the same place at the right time." I smile at the undeniable affection he has for his family. "As far as I know, they have never been happier."

"What were they doing when they met?" I ask curiously. I've always had a fascination of hearing other stories of how people have met their soul mates.

"As fate would have it, they were both at the same Christmas party. I think my mother had been an intern where he worked at the time and so they happened to meet that night."

"That's nice that they met around Christmas time," I murmur. "My mother actually met Ray at a baseball game that her friend ended up dragging her along to, and she absolutely loathes baseball with a passion. He ended up sitting behind her and he accidentally spilled diet coke all over her. When she turned around to tell him off for it, that was when color happened for them." Over the years, I had constantly asked both Ray and Carla to retell me the unique story of how they had met. Now I know it by heart.

I suspect that I'm probably boring him, but when I look up, I see that he has both elbows resting on the table, his shoulders slightly hunched over as he listens to me intently. "Well, that is certainly an interesting way to meet your soul mate," he remarks with a short laugh, "While you are doing something you loathe and having them pour diet coke all over you."

I laugh nervously. "Well, I never tire of hearing the story anyway," I murmur under my breath. "I find it interesting hearing other people's stories of when they met their soul mates. It's fascinating to me."

We fall into a strange silence, just staring at each other from across the table. I feel a strange sensation, simply being under his gaze. It's as if there is some sort of invisible charge of static electricity in the air between us. I'm not sure if he feels it too or if its just me, but there is definitely _something_ there.

"Should we check out the menu?" he suggests, breaking the silence. I realize, stupidly enough, that neither of us have even ordered our dinner yet. We've been too busy talking.

"Yes, we probably should," I agree, a nervous laugh escaping. "After all, that's mainly why we're here, isn't it? To have dinner?" I feel my cheeks flush at the comment as it leaves my mouth. I am just so hugely nervous about this, about being on a date with him. I know I probably have no true reason to feel that way, but I do.

My scrambled brain realizes there is only one menu on the table. Christian stands suddenly, then he starts dragging his chair closer to my side of the table so that we can read the menu together, that current of static electricity seeming to grow more intense with the shorter distance he is now placing between us. As he sinks back down into his chair inches near to me, our shoulders brush and I hear it then, though it could just be a pure figment of my imagination. I hear a strange gushing sound, as though there are waves lapping up against a shore. Or perhaps it is just the blood thrumming in my head?

"Have you eaten anything today?" I can barely hear him through the noise.

"Um, not really. I had something small for lunch on my break though." I peer over at him, seeing he is too busy reading the menu, his face turned downwards. He looks so absorbed and concentrated in reading the entrees they have available- not as though he can hear it, too. Is it really just me?

I feel utterly panicked, trying to seem normal while trying to get the sounds to stop. Mom did tell me on the phone that you crave to be close to your soul mate but she did not explain a physical reaction like this happening.

Before I even know what I am doing and acting out of sheer impulse, I reach over with my hand, finding one of his that he has resting on the table while he reads. I turn it over with my fingers, sliding my palm up and over his. I cannot even bring myself to care how forward it must seem of me, touching the heel of his hand, his long fingers. I clench my eyes shut, breathing out an immediate sigh of relief through my nose. The noisy gushing sounds immediately seem to dissipate when I slide my skin over his, feeling the calloused and rough texture of his warm hand.

I hear him murmuring something finally but that stops abruptly. When I reopen my eyes, I see that he is staring at me, perplexed. He must think I am so weird, touching him out of nowhere. His eyes are alight with confusion, his mouth parted. How do I explain this?

"I'm sorry," I get out weakly, moving my hand away. "How rude." I clasp both of them beneath the table, interlocking my fingers instead as a wave of heat washes over me from embarrassment. "I guess you weren't hearing it then?" He looks confused. He doesn't know what I'm talking about. I flounder around for a better excuse pathetically, "Um, I just needed to touch-"

"It's fine, Ana," he assures me quietly. "I like that you touched me. I was just asking whether you were interested in getting dessert?"

 _Wow, apparently I'm the only one going through this. There must be something seriously wrong with me then..._

"Dessert sounds wonderful," I manage, though dessert is the the very least of my concerns. What is happening to me?

A waiter appears to ask for our orders. I just let him order what sounds nice, feeling completely discombobulated and concerned over what just happened. Though I talked to my mother about this, I do not know what to expect at all or what's normal.

"Are you feeling all right?" Christian asks with concern, tearing me out of my thoughts. I'm not even sure how to answer that question.

"I don't know, I just feel a little... strange." I plaster a smile on my lips as I reach over to grab my glass. I take a sip of the wine, hoping it will make me feel better and will take my mind off it.

The strange noise doesn't return fortunately, not even when he drags his chair to the side slightly to put a more decent space between us. By the time our food arrives, I feel completely normal again, though not very hungry.

I ask him about his work and being the big-shot CEO of his own company, and he gets very passionate about it, speaking heatedly while we eat. Or well, while I try to force myself to eat something and act normal. I can tell his business is something he feels passionate about, and its mesmerizing, watching him explain it all to me and what his role entails.

Once he permits the waiter to take away our empty plates, barely two minutes later the dessert arrives. Dessert is Panna Cotta aromatized with rum with strawberries and blueberries. It looks delicious and my appetite returns with renewed vigor at the sight. It also happens to be my favorite dessert, but I'm not sure if it was purely a coincidence- Christian choosing that particular dessert out of all the others.

"Panna Cotta's actually my favorite dessert," I explain when we both pick up our dessert spoons. "So well done with the choice. Your spot on tonight."

He grins at me, making that blood thrum around my skull again. "Really, it's your favorite dessert?" He slices his open with his spoon. "How ironic. It's one of my favorite desserts as well." I'm not sure if he's just being playful in saying that, but I can't help laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.

We don't like coffee, having preference for tea. We like Liebestod and dislike spicy food. Now we so happen to love Panna Cotta as well?

I put a spoonful in my mouth and it literally melts on my tongue. I can just taste the hint of rum infused in it. It's heavenly. When I peer over at him, I find Christian watching me while I eat, his eyes bright. I lick my lips and his eyes drop down to them, his gaze strangely hooded.

"Thank you again for tonight," I force myself to say breathlessly. "It's been really... nice." Deliberately, he forces his eyes away, back down onto his dessert. I can't help watching him as he eats a spoonful of his own dessert, entranced by the way his lips move, the way he brings his tongue out to moisten his lips.

"So your thanking me?" he says, glancing up at me again, something there in his tone. "Are you saying goodnight and goodbye already?"

"No, of course not." I feel a surge of terror fill me at his words. Did I sound like I was saying goodbye already? "I just meant to thank you. No one has done this with me before, that's all."

"Well, then," he looks relieved, "I'm very glad you aren't saying goodbye. Especially when we are meant to have the rest of our lives together."

 _We're meant to have the rest of our lives together._ It's true. A strange warmth and contentment fills me at that, though realistically, I hardly even properly know this man.

We have basically only just met and are just beginning to get to know each other. But, at the same time, we are soul mates. It seems sort of nice to know that life is automatically mostly already sorted out. I no longer have to worry about not meeting my soul mate anymore, because here he is. He's here now and I can see color- we can see it together- and from this point forward, life is meant to be simple and uncomplicated. Hopefully.

"What has been your favorite sight with color so far?" I ask, unable to contain my curiosity. "What do you like the most about the world?"

"I think the view from my office," he admits after a moment of thought. "I've been sitting in my office daily, staring out the window with the... sky white or grey- depending on the weather- and the... monochrome of the tall buildings for so long now that because I can see it all, all the spectrum's of color that I missed out on before, it's like the most beautiful thing in the world to me. I cannot seem to get enough of looking out the window at the view of Seattle now." His voice shakes in wonder. "You don't realize until something like this happens, just how... important it is. Color." He pauses to eat another spoonful of his dessert. "Though, of course, how can you miss something you've never known for most of your life?" When I peek up at him, I notice he is staring at me in a strangely intense, meaningful way. "How can you... _crave it_ when you've been without it for so long? When you didn't even know in the first place that it was something that you needed, that it was... something that you were always looking for?"

I get the impression that he is not only just referring to the world in color. He's hinting to me as well, and I feel my cheeks flush.

"So what about you? What has been your favorite so far?"

"I'm undecided as yet," I admit. "There are just so many beautiful things. It's been a lot to take in. It's kind of... overwhelming."

"I know what you mean," Christian agrees, his voice quiet, pensive. "But I think, thus far, my most favorite thing to look at hasn't truly been the view in my office or the sky or the trees or any buildings. None of that, really."

I stare at him questioningly as I spoon in a small bit of my dessert, unsure of what he means.

"I'm talking about _you_ , Anastasia," he finally says, his eyes burning into mine. There is a startling amount of sincerity and eagerness in his expression. Tenderness as well. "I think, truly, so far, _you're_ my favorite thing to look at." I flush, staring down at my dessert. His words. They are too much. "I think I could just look at you for days, for weeks. Months. I don't even think I would tire of it."

Seductive. He is just saying words to me and using his voice and yet, it is the most seductive and sweetest thing a man has ever said to me before. And what's more and terrifyingly enough, he sounds as if he completely means them.

I want him, I realize. Its ludicrous on so many levels and I have only basically met him and yet, I want him. To kiss me, to make love to me. To marry me. To start a life with me. It's so sudden and too fast- all of this. Is it supposed to be this fast, this sudden?

 _Go with it,_ was my mother's instructions on the phone- or something similar to that effect. _Try to go with it and don't over-analyse it._

I know my mother and Ray got married after only two weeks of first meeting and discovering that they were soul mates. My grandmother and my grandfather- even sooner at barely under five days. They met, then three days later, they were married and had been married for over sixty years. It seems too good to be true, all of it. How can you try to go along with it easily? It's terrifying.

"I'm sorry," Christian says after a moment, laughing at himself. When I look over at him, I see he has a hand rubbing at the center of his forehead. He seems abashed, embarrassed. "It was probably the wrong thing to say. I apologize if I'm coming off too strong."

"No, you're not coming off too strong," I assure him quickly, though that sort of is half of it. "You just... surprised me by saying that. But in an extremely good way."

When we have finished the rest of our dessert, I offer to pay for my half of the food but Christian insists vehemently on paying. After the bill is settled, he walks me out, a hand slipping onto my lower back as he walks beside me. That charge is there between us, still present like a magnetic field. He rushes forward to hold the door open for me, a gentleman. Then standing out on the street and into the open night air, I feel relieved by the cool wind that flows on my overheated skin, cooling me down and soothing me.

"So what would you like to do now?" Christian asks, his voice evident with desperation. It catches me off guard; He doesn't seem to want the night to be over and for us to leave each other, to separate. I find I barely like the idea of us separating either.

I have no idea what the time is. "Do you know what time it is exactly?"

Christian pulls up the sleeve of his jacket, checking the time on the silver wristwatch he is wearing. He seems disappointed when he reads what time it is and he sighs loudly. "It's almost twelve o'clock."

 _Twelve o'clock at night? Already?_

"Do you want to go for a walk?" He asks hopefully, shoving both hands into his trouser pockets, staring down at his shoes. "Or you can come back to my place?"

Go back to his place? I feel my heart race at the very tempting suggestion. I know if I did end up going back to his place, something would more than likely happen between us and I would go further to where I have never been with a man before. I've always prided myself on not being that girl; I can't just sleep with any man, I need a special connection beforehand. And what's more of a special connection than the one you share with your supposed soul mate?

"The offer sounds very temping, but unfortunately I can't." It is late and I have an early shift at Clayton's to do in the morning. "I think I might have to head home. It's pretty late and I'm sure the both of us have an early start tomorrow."

"So there isn't any way that I can convince you to stay out longer with me?" he asks and he stands closer, peering down at me, looking me over carefully. "Is there any way possible that I can prolong this so that we don't have to end tonight just yet?" The sheer frustration in his voice for me not to leave, its amusing, yet I can't deny I feel the same way.

"I'm sorry, Christian," I admit regretfully. I really do have to get home and into bed. "I really don't think I can tonight."

"When can we see each other again then? When can I see you?"

"I'm sure it will happen sooner than you think. After all, you're kind of stuck with me now and you _do_ have my number." I grab my car keys out of my bag. "Again, thank you for tonight. It was very enjoyable."

Perhaps recognizing that I can't be swayed on my decision, he sighs resignedly. "All right. Drive safely."

I walk towards my car, not even totally sure how I manage to do it. When I glance behind my shoulder while unlocking the door, I see he is just standing there, watching me. That feeling returns, that magnetic pull that wants me to turn right around and rejoin him, to hinder our inevitable separation. But I can't. Not tonight.

 _Hope you liked this chapter. I hope it was okay, I get very nervous when updating, mostly because I don't know whether it will be liked it. I hope it isn't disappointing. In response to stealing this idea, I did not realize there was such a thing that already existed as a soul mate concept, I haven't seen Tumbler or ideas so I apologise and did not mean to offend. I watched the movie The Giver and was inspired by that concept of black and white and found the world appealing but now that I looked up soul mate AU's I realized the similarity, sorry if I have taken someone's idea. I guess its hard to be completely fresh with ideas._


	6. Chapter 6

Thank you so much for your nice comments and the alerts. I am really thankful for them. Another chapter :0 Would love to know your thoughts. Thanks for taking the time to read and comment.

* * *

 _ **Shades of Black and White**_

My phone vibrates with a call, sliding against the dashboard, the instance I pull up into the apartment driveway. I put the car into park, switching the ignition off and sliding out the key before grabbing my phone and checking who the caller happens to be. My first thought is that its Kate calling, desperate to know the details on how my date with my soul mate went and whether I'll be spending the rest of the night at his place.

As it turns out, it isn't Kate or anyone else. It's Christian, astonishingly. I smile to myself, both amused and bewildered that he is calling me when it has barely been under twenty minutes since we just left each other. I wonder if the connection is getting to him if he's already calling me.

"Hello, Christian," I breathe, once I answer the phone, holding it up to my ear. "I have to say I'm surprised that you're calling me already. We left each other barely twenty minutes ago?"

"So you've arrived home safely, I take it?" His voice floats over me pleasantly, gruff and low. My mother was definitely right, about how by just hearing his voice over the phone would make me feel soothed and content inside.

"Yes, I just pulled up into the driveway right when the phone started going off with your phone-call. I'm home now."

"Then I'm very pleased to hear that." His voice sounds far off and echoed, but despite that, I still feel a warm tingling sensation in my stomach.

"Where are you?"

"In the backseat of the car right as we speak." Foolishly, I glance behind my seat, checking to see if he's hiding in my car. Of course he isn't hiding in the backseat, and I feel stupid looking. "Taylor's driving me home."

Taylor? He hadn't mentioned a Taylor at dinner tonight? "Who is Taylor?"

"Taylor's my driver," he explains, though he doesn't give anymore away than that. He goes quiet for a moment. I think I hear him sigh. "I'll be frank with you," he speaks again, his voice hesitant, cautious. "I have an issue."

"An issue?" I feel the blood rush up to my head, my heart racing in panic. "An issue with what? What sort of issue?" Did I do something wrong tonight?

"It's about your car, Anastasia," he explains slowly. "When I watched you drive away, it turned out to be a huge issue for me."

 _My car is an issue to him? My old but reliable BMW?_

"But what's wrong with my car" I ask warily. "Why would it be an issue for you? It got me home safely in one piece obviously. I wouldn't be talking to you now if my car wasn't safe?"

"It's old," he points out, disgust evident in his tone. "And do you know what that means? The older the model of the car is, the more likely it is to have wear and tear and break down."

"That's true," I agree halfheartedly. "But this car happens to be important to me. It was a heirloom, given to me by my grandfather when I first got my license? Plus, I have her regularly serviced every twelve months. She's only broken down twice in all the time I've had her?"

I cannot believe he is calling me to discuss my car and how much he dislikes it. Is this something that normally happens? I suppose I shouldn't wonder about whether its normal. Each soul mate couple surely is different, just like every other relationship naturally is.

"And besides, my grandmother Rose would be really offended if I did anything to it," I add under my breath. I am so confused. Where is he trying to go with this conversation?

"Well, let's just say what we talked about stuck with me," Christian says quietly.

"But we spoke about a lot of things tonight?"

"There was one thing in particular that you told me, about your grandmother, that really made me think." Oh, great. What did I say? "Now, if I may, let me throw something to you and its a completely hypothetical question."

I feel my heart surge with dread at wondering what it is he will be asking me and just what his goal is. "Okay?" I whisper nervously. "I'm listening?"

There is a seconds worth of silence on his end, before he begins to ask meaningfully, "Do you like the way the world is now when you look at it?"

"Do I like the way the world is now?" I repeat in confusion.

"Yes."

"You mean now that we have given each other the gift of colors?"

"Yes," he answers, a bit impatiently. "That is exactly how I meant it, Anastasia. Do you like the world how it is now, now that you can see colors? Do you like it better now that its colored and not monochrome?"

Do I really even need to answer that question? " _Of course_ I like it how it is now," I answer reluctantly. I'm still not entirely sure what point he is trying to make out of it. "I wouldn't change it- _this_ \- for the world."

"And there you go," he mutters, seemingly pleased by the answer I have given him. "I don't particularly want to ever go back _there_ either, Anastasia. I like the world how it is now and feel as though I can appreciate it better now that I'm seeing colors with you."

"And so _how_ does my old car come into this?" I ask, puzzled.

"Well, now that we've both established and made it very clear that we like the world as it is now, and after you told me the story of how your grandmother reverted back to being colorblind after her soul mate died...I'm not keen on taking any chances."

"Your not keen on taking any chances? Meaning what?" Realization dawns onto me a second later. "Are you saying that you want me to buy another car? One that you feel would be... safer so that there's no risk of me ever dying and you going back to being colorblind?"

"Yes, that is exactly what I mean. Only, no, not you buying the car, Anastasia. _Me_. I would be the one buying you the car."

Wow. We only met basically a day ago and found out we were soul mates and that we could each give the gift of color. We just went on our very first date and now he wants to buy me a car because he worries that, because its an older model and has wear and tear, that I'll get into an accident?

It is definitely sweet and caring of him, in his own personal way. He wants me, as his soul mate, to drive a car and be safe on the roads so that we can reduce the odds of either one of us dying and losing our sight prematurely. But a car is something hugely expensive to buy for someone, isn't it? _Especially_ for _someone_ he just met barely twenty four hours ago.

Fast. This is going so fast. Is it normally this fast? Really, I know there is no point in making comparisons to other soul mate relations; Each one is vastly unique and goes at its own varied rate. Still, I cannot help feeling daunted by how fast we are moving.

"I'm flattered that you feel concerned enough about my choice in vehicle to actually offer to buy me a newer, more recent car, Christian, but... honestly, I wouldn't feel comfortable about accepting a gift so big like a car from you."

"Why not?" A loud intake of breath from him sends the line crackling in my ear. "I felt worried about you the instance I watched you get into that car when you said goodbye at the restaurant barely half an hour ago. You're my soul mate and the idea of losing you all because I sat back and did nothing about improving how you get around frightens me greatly." He is putting up a very good argument in his attempt to sway me. I don't want him to be frightened at the idea of losing me at all.

"And I understand that, Christian. I can understand how you feel. But I've been driving this car for a little over four years now and she's never broken down very often. The brakes have never failed, I maintain her oil levels regularly, and I-"

"-You seem to be misunderstanding my intentions for bringing the whole car thing up," he cuts over me, his voice gentle yet firm and decisive. "This wasn't a negotiation or a discussion, Ana. I've gone through nearly twenty eight years believing I never had a soul mate out there for me, and yet, there you were, walking into my office for the interview. Do you really think I'd just get into this without showing regard for your safety?"

He's impossible. He's showing me a side of him that he hadn't earlier tonight while we had dinner. There is a side to his personality that is pushy. Pushy and unyielding when it comes to something he wants to happen.

I sigh loudly. "Christian, I just...I don't feel comfortable letting you buy me a car. A car is expensive and we've only just really met. If you think that I'll just easily accept a ridiculously expensive gift from you, then you're wrong." He goes to say something, probably to make his point, but I speak over him quickly, "And you're right; We _aren't_ negotiating about this. I say no. I'm perfectly happy with my car."

"This is mainly because you would feel bad about accepting a car as a gift from me, isn't it? You would feel... guilty and as though you would be indebted to me if you did agree to let me buy you a car?" He sounds so confident on that being the reason why and, scarily enough, he's hit the nail on the head. It's as if he can read my mind and how I truly feel.

"Yes, that's right," I confess. "We _only_ met yesterday and it's unsettling on me. You buying me car, it would be too much. Too... fast."

"Fast?" he repeats, concern in his tone. "So you feel that we are going too fast?"

I probably should be honest. He would hear it in my voice anyway if I'm not. "I do feel as if it's moving too fast. I think its why I wanted to leave early tonight, instead of staying behind with you. I was... afraid that we might go further than what I was ready for, that we would move faster than my mind can coherently process it."

"I wouldn't pressure you into doing something you aren't ready to do, Anastasia. _Ever_ ," he assures me, his voice adamant and sincere. "I wish you had told me your concerns straight to my face so that we could both understand this together. But with the way I see it, since we're soul mates, I don't personally believe that there is such a thing as too fast or too slow. There is probably no one right way to react to all of this, no right... pace. I think you are overthinking this instead of just enjoying it and letting it happen."

Christian's right in all that he has said, of course. Earlier, tonight, I had been too preoccupied with whether or not how we were going was right, as far as the soul mate connection went. I was afraid to say yes to spending more time with him after dinner, because I was scared one thing would lead to another, and we'd consummate our bond after having only just basically met.

"Yes, some might consider a car to be an enormous gift to buy someone, but... with the way I see it, you _are_ my soul mate and, frankly, I have no desire to go back to being colorblind ever again. So, in a way that is me being purely selfish, I want to take care of you by making sure you are safe on the roads, as well as reducing the possibility of me returning to being colorblind. For my sake- and as well as yours- I want you to be safe and if I want to buy you something like a car then I'm buying you a car. All right?"

I'm still not convinced. "I really don't want you to."

"Well, try to think of it this way. We met yesterday, and we gave each other color. We're soul mates. Destined, whatever you like to call it. We have no choice- you're going to be a part of my life for as long as we have, and likewise, I'm going to be a part of yours." He sounds so calm, so rational. It's enviable. "This entire thing, it's completely... illogical, but it's something that happens in this world. Why bother wasting time worrying about whether we're going at the right pace or not? Why bother worrying if its too fast, everything about this? It doesn't matter, because... sooner or later, we _will_ end up getting married and doing all of that other stuff. We're meant to spend the rest of our lives together, it's... fate, something unchangeable. So why should it matter what pace we go at or if I buy you a new car despite us having only just met? All of that doesn't matter anymore."

I hate how good he is at making arguments. He's winning already. He obviously isn't going to let it slide. "Fine. It's ridiculous, but fine."

"So your saying yes?" he asks uncertainly.

"Yes. If it makes you happy, then yes, you have my permission to buy me a new car."

"Great. See that wasn't so hard, was it?" He sounds relieved, as if I've just removed a huge debilitating weight off his back. "Now, you said you work tomorrow? You have an early shift tomorrow in the morning?"

"Yes, I have an early shift. I finish at twelve."

"Then I'll meet you at twelve where you work and then we can sort the car issue out. Does that sound good?"

"Yes," I surrender, exasperated. "Yes, that sounds good." Through the windshield, I see the front door to the apartment open. Kate stands there, leaning against the wall, probably wondering why it is that I haven't gone inside yet and why I'm just sitting in my car. "I should probably go."

"All right, I'll see you tomorrow then. Sleep well."

"Yes, you too."

He hangs up, and finally, I grab my handbag and step out of the car, locking it up. I feel irritated by our conversation as I meet Kate inside. He's right though. I should just let it be and not think too much on how fast this may be heading for us. It's funny. They prepare you for this moment in school, where the teachers explain how come you don't see color at an early age and what it means for you. You spend your whole life, practically waiting for this moment, and now that it has come, I'm acting paranoid over how rapid its moving and how overwhelmingly sudden everything is.

"How did the big date go with your multi-billionaire, deliciously good-looking soul mate?" Kate asks curiously once I finally get in. I hang by the door, taking my coat off to hang it up on the rack.

"It was terrifying," I admit to her breathlessly.

"Terrifying?" she repeats, incredulous. "Wow. I was expecting many things. Exhilarating. Magical, maybe. Or exciting. But terrifying?" Kate arches her eyebrows at me in confusion.

"He wants to buy me a new car tomorrow," I admit to her.

"And that's a bad thing? Ana, let's face it. Your car _is_ pretty old and you sort of _are_ in need of a new one."

"I know that," I mutter grudgingly. "I just don't feel comfortable with him buying me a car. We only met roughly a day ago when I interviewed him for you. It's going really fast."

"Does it really matter if its going fast? Your soul mates. It's supposed to be a part of the connection. How did dinner go?"

"We had _a lot_ in common, Kate."

"Common is good, though. It's good to have some similarities." She follows me into the kitchen while I put on the kettle to make a cup of tea. "Is it everything you thought it would be?"

It's difficult to even know what I thought it would be. It's indescribable. "Terrifying," I mutter again, finding that to be the only apt way to describe it. "Every single thing about it, is... terrifying. And that's really all I can think of as an appropriate word."

"Hmm, well. I suppose that's really to be expected coming from you," she says offhandedly.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask her, taken aback. The kettle goes off and I grab my mug, preparing to make myself a cup of tea.

"You've never had a relationship before," she points out. "You never dated in a high school. You hardly even had any crushes on any guys. I suppose it's natural that you would find this terrifying, seeing as... even in high school, you never experimented."

Kate's right. I never had any boyfriends in school. I hardly ever had a crush on someone either. I really have nothing to base any of this on, and that's what makes it most terrifying and nerve-wracking. I really feel out of my comfort zone ever since having met Christian for the interview.

But with the way everyone was boasting about the soul mate connection, about being given your colors by that certain someone, dating another person had seemed so pointless to me. What's the point, when they clearly weren't your soul mate unless you met them and they gave you colors straightaway?

"Do you think its terrible of me if I let him buy me a fancy, new car though?" I ask her uncertainly. "He said he's worried about my safety in my old car that I drive now, but... letting him by me a car, especially when we haven't had our connection for long, it seems... wrong?"

"How can it be wrong to accept a new car from him, Ana?" She gives me a are-you-serious look, shaking her head. "And _besides_... your basically married anyway. You may as well just change your name to Ana Grey already, seeing as its like a written-in-the-stars thing."

 _Ana Grey?_ I blush at the idea of having his last name, of us finalizing our soul mate bond through marriage. Nowadays, it's hugely uncommon and rare for two soul mates to choose not to get married. It is an expected thing when you meet your soul mate. And I _like_ it. I _actually like_ the idea of being married to Christian, to share a happy, long colorful life together.

But it seems too easy, too _readily there_. Too good to be true.

0000

Work goes mindbogglingly slow at Clayton's.

I feel as though I am constantly on edge, counting down the minutes until I can finally clock off on my shift to see Christian. Mrs Clayton, my boss and the owner along with her son, has me labeling and stocking the shelf today. By law, we are required to have clear bold labels on all items, in capital letters so that people can see what the item is clearly that they are purchasing. Also, signs are very important and must be clearly displayed so everyone can see where to go to find the particular items that they are looking for. It's also a big thing for clothing stores; Signs must be clearly displayed and clothes correctly labeled by color. Otherwise, it's misleading.

I'm stuck in the outdoor section, sticking labels on garden hoses and rakes.

I'm just hanging up a shovel when a peculiar sensation passes through me. Without really knowing why, I drop the label gun onto the trolley, my entire body and gaze drawn to something in the aisle across from where I stand. I turn my head, looking curiously. I glance to the side... and find myself staring directly into the gray eyes and face of Christian Grey, soul mate, who practically appeared out of nowhere, in the store, watching me.

We're not even supposed to be meeting until in another fifteen minutes time. My shift hasn't even ended yet. He's early.

It's rather startling, how my body seemed to know before I did that he was in the store. I could just feel it, as if I was having some weird mind-out-of-body experience. Is my body already naturally that attuned to his presence? How the hell did that happen? Or is it another unexplained soul mate thing? To feel their presence?

"You're early," I manage, feeling winded at the sight of him and what has just happened. "I haven't even finished my shift just yet?"

"I know I'm early. I just couldn't resist watching you work."

He moves closer in a casually graceful way, a smile playing on the corners of his lips. The closer he stands to me, the more I become aware of that strange magnetic pull again, that invisible static. I can hardly refrain from throwing my arms around him, I find. His eyes search my face warmly and then, startling me, he reaches out, slipping his fingers around my forearm, squeezing gently as he bends down. He kisses me on my cheek in greeting, leaving it to linger. Once he steps back, moving away, putting a reasonable amount of distance between us, I still feel the remnant of his warm lips on my cheek, his fingers around my arm.

"That was very strange," he mutters, his voice unsteadily quiet and filled with wonder. "I seemed to know exactly what aisle you were in the instance I stepped in here."

Him saying that, it relieves me. Apparently I am not the only one who feels highly attuned to his presence, thank goodness.

"I felt you, too," I gush out senselessly. "I felt you when you came in. Or well, _somehow_ my body did. It seemed to know that you were in here, and it was as though I was immediately drawn to you?"

His eyes widen as he stares at me in silence for a moment. He seems to become strangely ashen. "Yes, it was like that for me as well when I came in, Anastasia," he admits softly. "You're not the only one. I felt it too." As if its uncomfortable for him to talk about, he changes topic quickly, "I hope your ready to go car hunting?"

"Well, it isn't like I have much choice, is there?" I tease, pretending and hoping to sound aggravated. "You put up a pretty convincing argument on the phone last night. How can I go against that?"

"Well, I'm your soul mate. I'm allowed to take your safety incredibly seriously." He says it as though that reason alone makes him justified in insisting I let him buy me a car. And maybe it is?

 _Hope you liked this one. Love to know your feelings on it. :) Thank you for taking time to read! Hope it wasn't bad. Any suggestions are welcome :)_


	7. Chapter 7

**Sorry I took long to write more. Sorry this is quite short. I haven't had much time to write this weekend but I was impatient to.**

 **Hope you like.**

 **Shades of Black and White**

We end up trailing through a few car yards, trying to find a car that we both agree on. Despite being soul mates, apparently that doesn't mean you won't end up butting heads. Neither of us seem very agreeable with what car we want to choose for me.

I always seem to like the ones that are lesser in price, whereas Christian is insistent on a newer model with fancy things like air-conditioning, an inbuilt GPS system, and a camera so that you can see clearly what is behind you when reversing. It's exhausting.

I find him wandering back towards a shiny red four-door car that he suggested barely fifteen minutes ago. "I think this one is best," he insists again. "I know this car got one of the best safety ratings." The price is over twenty five thousand dollars. Way, way too expensive- even though, at the back of my mind, I am fully aware that my soul mate also so happens to be one of the richest men in the US.

"I like the one over there, though?" I say, gesturing towards the one I've been eyeing off ever since we arrived at this car yard. It isn't as new and it's been used, but it costs far less than a newer car, at ten thousand. "It may be fairly old, yes, but... why else would they be selling it in a car yard if it isn't safe to drive?"

I can tell Christian isn't open to negotiating. He stares longingly at the red car, running a hand over the glossy paint. "What's wrong with this one?"

 _Men and their cars._ When he helps himself to opening one of the doors to peer inside at the interior, I know its a losing battle.

One new registration form filled out and thirty minutes later, I have my new car, which, thanks to Christian, is a brand spanking new red Audi A3 that he traded my old car in for from the local dealer. My car was worth seven thousand, so Christian still had to pay a lot out of his own pocket. I still feel funny about him buying me it, but at the same time, I can understand his viewpoint now. I know that I wouldn't be happy if anything happened to Christian prematurely either, compromising my color-vision.

It just feels so crazy fast. We only basically just met a couple of days ago and, now here we are, with him buying me something as pricey as a new sports car. I know he probably doesn't expect me to but I badly want to pay him back the money, if it were even remotely possible for me with my meager income.

Famished from arguing over which car is best, Christian suggests we get something to eat and we find somewhere. I get out of the car and wait near the door of the restaurant while he goes off to find somewhere decent to park and, just like how it was when I left him after dinner, I feel bereft the instance I climb out of the car and step out onto the pavement. Self-consciously, I hike up my jeans and unzip my jacket while I wait for him.

That weird scalp-tugging sensation overcomes me when I clasp my hands out in front of me, unable to resist turning in another direction. Surely enough, my body seems to be attuned to his presence again. When he sees me waiting for him still, he throws a slow, sexy dimpled smile at me as he strolls forward to meet me.

I remember something that happened when I was younger, though it feels as though the thought is random, something coming out of nowhere. I have an instant recollection and instantly it seems to make eerie sense to me now.

A strange thing had happened to me when I was younger, though I hadn't realized until now how much meaning that occurrence had in the future.

I was almost twelve when it had happened. Kate is three months older than me, and so I had gone to her birthday party. It was a sleepover at her house, and me and a few other girls from school had turned up to stay-over for the night. After eating cake, Kate had suggested we play with the old Ouija board that had belonged to her father during his college frat days.

Everyone took it in turns, asking questions while we all held onto the little plastic cup, making it move across the board. Then it was my turn, and Kate had been the one to come up with the question because I couldn't think of one at the time.

 _"What is the first name of Ana's soul mate that will end up giving her color?"_

We had all taken our usual places, with Kate to the left and I to the right, all of our fingers touching the little cup. It had began to move across the board. First in a circle. Then it landed on the black _C_ letter.

 _"No one's pushing it on purpose,"_ Kate had assured me.

Then it started moving real quickly. _H, R, I, S, T, I, A, N._

 _Christian._

 _"Christian?"_ Kate had repeated blankly, and all the girls around us had gone silent. _"But do you know anyone at school called Christian?"_

 _"No,"_ I had murmured, spooked. _"There isn't any boys I know of at school with the name Christian."_

 _"He's your soul mate. Your soul mate that will end up being the one to give you a life of color must be called Christian. If the Ouija board says that your future soul mate is a man named Christian, then it must be right. The Ouija board never lies."_

As it turns out, Kate must have been right. The Ouija board mustn't lie. My soul mates name _does_ happen to be Christian, and I feel like I'm beaming, my face hurting with a wide returned smile at him. Although people expect this to happen and hope that it will, in meeting their soul mate one day, it still feels so surreal that its happening to me now.

"I hope your hungry?" he asks as he holds the door open for me.

"I am, actually. Car hunting has made me feel surprisingly more ravenous than I thought it would."

"I know the feeling." Placing his hand on my back, he guides me towards a desk where a woman is waiting, probably the head of house or the hostess. My body seems relieved by the contact he has chosen to give me with his hand.

He explains to the woman that we haven't made a reservation for lunch, which she says isn't necessary. Hand still on my back, we follow her into a dining area. He only removes his hand away once he pulls my chair out for me, which has my heart sinking. I really wish I understood what is happening with my moods and why physical contact with him soothes me so much. Does he feel it too?

I sit, smiling both shyly yet gratefully. The woman gives us two menus to look at and leaves us alone to take our time selecting what to eat.

"Have you been here before?" I ask conversationally, watching Christian as he removes his jacket. He drapes it along the back of his chair before sitting gracefully into his own seat opposite me.

"I haven't, actually. Until we drove past it just then, I wasn't aware of this restaurant even existing."

My eyes are drawn to a picture on the wall. It's a building, fairly large, though I'm not sure what the building is and where its located. All I know, is that its quite breathtaking.

Christian turns in his seat, following my gaze to the picture. "That's the Leaning Tower of Pisa," he explains. "In Italy. Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," I agree, clasping my hands together on the table. Why do I feel so anxious? "Have you ever been?" I blab out. "To see it in Italy?"

"No, I haven't. Honestly, travelling hasn't held much appeal to me over the years, not when you couldn't see the full spectrum of it in color. Have you been to see it in person?" I can't tell whether he is asking me to be humorous or not. How could I have seen it when I wouldn't have had the money to travel?

"No, I haven't been travelling much myself. I would like to someday though. Especially now that I can see and appreciate things better."

"Where would you like to go?" he asks, his eyes alight with curiosity.

"So many places," I murmur nervously. "Paris. England. Ireland."

"I'm much the same." An ironic giggle leaves me. _Of course he is._ It's still so weird, how much we have in common. He leans forward slightly. "Are you nervous?" he asks softly.

I didn't realize I was being that obvious. "Yes."

He smiles at me. "I am, too." Him saying that relieves me. His eyes lower down at my chest, though I don't know why.

Something comes across his expression before he glances away hastily. He lifts up a hand, rubbing around his chin with his slim fingers, his eyes narrowed rather pensively.

I glance down myself in confusion, sort of expecting my bra strap to maybe be showing through my low cut shirt. I realize its so much more than that, though; My birthmarks. I have two mottled, circular birthmarks on my chest, ones that have been there pretty much since I've been born. My mother never really explained much about them, but I just assumed they were just there and something not to be seriously concerned about.

He seems as if he wants to know more about them, but its obvious he fears asking would be rude. He doesn't need to worry though. I'm not insecure about them anymore, though they are hard to hide if I wear something low-cut.

"They're nothing serious," I explain. "They're just harmless birthmarks. I've had them practically since I was born."

My heartbeat quickens when he finally glances my way again with a slow nod. "So no one tried to hurt you?" he asks quietly and a fleeting troubled look crosses his face. "They're just birthmarks?"

His question flabbergasts me. _Hurt me? Why would he ask if someone had tried to hurt me?_

"No, no one has ever hurt me. Why do you ask?"

"There's no true reason. I was just curious." He shakes his head again, though he seems distracted. "Would you like anything in particular to drink? Wine?"

"Sure, a bit of wine would be lovely. You better order like last time, though. I'm sure you know more about wine than I do."

I can tell he is trying to hide a grin as he begins reading through his menu. "All right then. I'll pick the wine, just like last time."

He glances at something out the window and when I follow his gaze, I see a young woman standing there. She's looking straight in, watching us through the glass. Her hair is limp and long, a dark brown. She looks tiny.

"Excuse me for a second," Christian says apologetically, and as he leaves and steps outside the restaurant, I realize he knows her. He must know this young woman who is about my age, though I'm not sure how.

I watch them through the window, unable to help it. She drops her head, her shoulders shaking. I realize she is crying. Christian is saying something to her and he looks frustrated, and she's crying. Is she the woman he was in a relationship with before we found each other? It seems so.

Again, I feel guilty though I know realistically it isn't my fault. These things happen, and if I had my say, I wouldn't have ended up being soul mated to someone that was already in a serious relationship- mainly because I hate feeling responsible for hurting someone. I feel so terrible and sorry for her. She looks so hurt and as if, although he never gave _her_ the gift of color, that she really loved him?

I grow tired of watching them so I deliberately bring my eyes back down to the menu in front of me instead. Brown and white, I think, distracting myself. The menu is brown but the text is white.

"Sorry about that," Christian sighs, letting me know he has returned back to the table. "I didn't expect that to happen. Apparently she was in the area and she spotted us through the window." I glance towards the window again, but the girl is gone.

"Was she the woman that you were seeing before we met?" I ask curiously, though I think I already know the answer. "The one that you said you were involved with at the time? Leila, I think you said her name was?"

Christian scrutinizes me with an unfathomable expression as he sinks back into his chair. He rests one elbow on the table as he strokes around his chin and mouth again. "That _was_ Leila, yes. She must have seen us through the window here." His eyes search my face. Is he worried about what I think now? Is he anxious? "Does that bother you?"

"Does _what_ bother me?" I ask uncertainly.

"Well, the fact that I was... with her before I even met you?" I open my mouth, about to answer, but he speaks again, "Of course it would, and I'm sorry. I just wasn't sure whether I even had a soul mate to begin with or that I even totally believed in the concept. Callous as it seems to say, it was almost like... passing the time, if you can understand? Does that make any sense?"

"Due to my limited experience, not... really," I admit carefully. "I know many date others before they meet their soul mates but personally, I thought there was no point to it. It just seemed... pointless to me." Before I can elaborate, a waiter appears with a bottle of wine and two glasses. He sets both glasses on the table, then starts filling them up. I hadn't even seen Christian order?

"I ordered the wine once I got back in," he explains, as if seeming to notice what I was about to ask. The waiter leaves us to decide on our meals and Christian adds, before taking a sip from his glass, "It's Sancerre. A French wine."

 _He must definitely know his wine then..._

"So you weren't in a relationship?" he prompts, returning to our previous conversation.

"No, I haven't been in one. I just found it pointless to try to when the one you're supposed to be with is out there, waiting to give you color. It didn't seem right to me. Plus, all the unnecessary drama of having to hurt the person you are with was not something I wanted to have to deal with. Waiting was fine for me." I reach out, moving my glass of wine closer to me, then I bring it up, taking in a small sip. It's a very nice, very sweet wine. "I can't say I blame you for that, though. I understand that not many are willing to be patient until their soul mate enters their lives. But with how she looked outside, it seemed that she... that she was very upset over you having to end things with her?"

"She _was_ very distressed when I had to break things off with her, though... what we had together was hardly any normal or conventional sort of relationship." I appreciate his honesty. I can tell he really cares for her-yet I can't help feeling a bit wounded and insecure that he does. "But, as everyone does when they choose to be involved with someone, she willingly took the risk. She knew we weren't truly soul mates- we hadn't given each other color, we were still colorblind. She knew this was bound to happen eventually- with either her meeting her soul mate first, or me with mine."

I have to ask the niggling question although I feel stupid for worrying. "Do you love her?"

"I wouldn't say I ever loved her," Christian says cautiously. "I... cared for her as I had gotten to know her for over three months, but I think love is going a bit too far."

"Right. So you don't love her, but naturally you've come to care for her a lot. I get it." I think I can understand. But why do I feel so funny about that? So... disappointed?

"That's right. And, as I'm sure you've already figured it out by now, she's in the past. I can't want or think about or need anyone else but you now, now that we've finally met and now that I know that you _do_ exist. It's... impossible to want anything else."

His words make me feel hot and flushed. From what I have heard, the infidelity rates between soul mate couples are rare, if impossible. But to hear him say those words, it's like he is seducing me. He's seducing me with nothing else but his voice and words. _I can't want or think about or need anything else but you..._

"I know you feel the same way, Anastasia. I can't be the only one."

My mouth feels suddenly parched, and I have to take in two full mouthfuls of the wine to moisten my tongue. He knows I feel the same way? Is that what I'm feeling? Want and need? I know I feel something unexplainable in his presence. I feel relieved when he touches me or showers innocent physical gestures of contact onto me. I feel attuned to his presence. Is that what that all is? Want and need?

"You're very straightforward," I manage to say when I lift my gaze to his.

He stares back at me as he presses his lips together, fighting a smile. "I know. I've been told that I am quite often."

"It's disarming."

"Well, I just like saying things how it is, rather than beating around the bush, so to speak. After all, what would be the point of that?"

I struggle for something less dangerous to say. "Thanks again for the car by the way. You really didn't have to do that."

"Yes, I did. I like the way the world is far more better with color now. When you said that your Grandmother's color-vision deteriorated after her soul mate died, then I didn't want to take that risk."

"Still, we can work out a payment plan so that I can pay you back in installments?" The instance it comes out of my mouth, I know its silly. But I would feel better if I could pay him back in some way.

"Definitely not. I don't want nor expect you to ever pay me back, Anastasia. The way I see it, is that we're soul mates and its to be expected to do this sort of thing. To take care of each other." He gives me a look that seems insulted. "I don't want you to try reimburse the money for the car at all. It's what I do, what I'm used to." What he does and is used to? "Besides, I should probably be thanking you for finally allowing me to buy you it in the end and for not persisting on being so stubborn." _Oh? He thinks I'm the stubborn one?_

"I think, in all fairness, we both were equally as stubborn to get our own way."

"We'll see," he mutters under his breath, playfully challenging. "Let's see how long it takes for me to talk you into coming back to my place with me after getting something to eat, and then we'll really see who is more stubborn."

My heart feels as though it has slowed to an excessively sluggish rate as I digest his words down. He wants me to come back with him to where he lives? Somehow, I have an inkling of where it will go and, oddly enough, I cannot find it within me to care at all.

 _Hope you liked. Sorry if it was badly written or boring. Next chapter will be far more exciting, I promise. Many thanks for reading I'm so flattered!_


	8. Chapter 8

**_Shades of Black and White_**

 _"Let's see how long it takes for me to talk you into coming back to my place with me after getting something to eat, and then we'll really see who is more stubborn."_

"In that case, I'll have the check please," I gush out under my breath, mainly being playful. I _think._

Christian gives me an intense, serious look as he leans forward in his seat towards me. "Check?" he repeats with raised brows, taken aback.

I don't think he knows I'm teasing. My cheeks flush with heat as a short laugh escapes me. "I was just kidding about that," I mutter awkwardly, squeezing my fingers together beneath the table. "I truly am ravenous after our little outing to find me a car."

Christian leans back in his chair, getting the joke at last. He presses his lips together, suddenly seeming solemn. A little disappointed over it being a joke too, maybe?

Things become a bit stilted and quiet where we both concentrate on what to order on the menu. My mind is whirling. _Damn, did he want to leave already? Was he hoping I truly wanted the check so that we could leave early? Have I put my foot in my mouth already?_

After picking out something nice to order, I peek up at him through my lashes while reaching for my glass, taking in another slow sip of the wine. I feel so drawn to him. I feel like I've never been attracted to anyone before, until now, which is ultimately true; In school, at University, there was no boy I had felt even remotely attracted to. Now I'm learning what it must feel like to be attracted to someone, emotionally, physically, sexually. It's mind-blowing to the point where I could just sit here, admiring him all evening. _God, he's gorgeous. How do people even possibly act normal around their soul mates, or anyone they find so attractive in general?_

He glances up at me without warning and I deliberately glance away, down at the red liquid in my glass, my cheeks getting hit with warmth again. Why do I have to feel so shy?

"Red," Christian says out of nowhere, a hint of amusement in his tone. I smile to myself. I get a feeling this will be a reoccurring game between us, stating colors. I wonder if all newly color-seeing people do this or if its just us. Surely, they would, as a way to cope with sensory overload.

"What?" I ask nervously, peeking up at him again.

"Your cheeks," he explains, and his grey eyes are alight with something similar to both humor and appreciation. "Your cheeks are a lovely shade of red." I smile at him nervously, despite how strangely difficult it seems to maintain his gaze for some reason. Beneath his gaze right now, I feel weirdly... tingly. Glowing. "Are you blushing right now?" He's making fun of me, I think.

"No." I scramble for something to use as a valid excuse. "It's just... hot in here."

"What are you thinking?" he asks quietly, curiously.

 _What am I thinking? God, how am I supposed to even answer that? Why does he want to know?_

"I'm thinking that the salmon sounds pretty delicious," I say, off the top of my head.

He shakes his head slightly, a small amused smile trembling his lips. "You know that wasn't what I meant, though... I agree, the salmon does sound mouthwatering the way they described it on the menu." He clears his throat in a deliberate and obvious way, looking down at his menu again. "Pink, juicy fillet salmon..." He begins to read, making it sound even more delicious by his voice alone. "Lovingly, crisply glazed in a balsamic soy ginger dressing." I'm not entirely sure what he is trying to do, but whatever it is, it's strangely working. I feel as though I'm breaking out in a heat rash when he lifts his head, returning his gaze to mine. "So you're thinking the salmon sounds delicious, yet your blushing?"

I rest an elbow on the table, pressing my palm to my cheek. He's right; My skin is too hot, too flushed. But I'd rather he think something else than having to admit to him that I was ogling him, that I was admiring his attractiveness, that I feel somehow unusually taken by him. Something tells me he isn't going to let it go right now, though. He's enjoying teasing me; He's having too much fun with it. And maybe I'm enjoying it, too?

He's admirably straight-faced as he stares deep into my eyes. "I don't know," he mutters, scratching his chin with his fingers quickly. "Usually people don't blush over just salmon, Anastasia?"

A giggle threatens to escape my throat as I press my lips together tight to stifle a smile. "Like I just said, it's hot in here. That's why I seem to look as though I'm blushing."

"Are you sure that's it?" He sounds hopeful, like he's hoping I'll say its something else.

 _No, I'm blushing because I just don't want you to know I've been admiring you._ "Yes, I'm pretty sure that's just it, Christian."

He glances away from me for a moment, deep in thought. His hands move to his wine glass as his fingers play with the stem distractedly. When he finally meets my gaze again, that mirth is still there. "I'm still not convinced that's it. There has to be another reason."

"Oh really?" I laugh, unable to help it. "And what other reason could there be?"

"Multiple reasons, but... salmon isn't one of them, I don't think." His eyes search my face earnestly, the corners of his mouth twitching. He's trying hard to suppress a smile. "There's two things." He pauses to take a quick sip of his own wine, and then he licks his lips, moistening them. "Usually, someone blushes either because they're embarrassed or..." He stops meaningfully, reeling me in. He's got me hooked, waiting for it.

"Or what, Christian?" I ask, playing along. "What's the other reason someone usually blushes?"

"Or maybe, _just maybe_ , they're... thinking dirty thoughts? Is that what you're doing? Thinking dirty?"

My heart seems to stop dead still with beating at his playful, careless comment. His eyes remain on mine boldly, shining with playfulness. Wow. So I _wasn't exactly_ thinking dirty about him, but I _was_ admiring him. How can he do that? How can he say that stuff like its nothing? He's so different from me, he can obviously talk about this stuff freely, whereas even thinking about it, I feel all coy and shy. It must be due to his experience compared to me in dating and no doubt sex in general.

I don't know how to answer that, so I just force down a long sip of the wine, ignoring his gaze. The waiter finally arrives to ask what we want, and we order our meals. Too bad I don't feel like eating anymore, although I am hungry. My mind is sort of on other things aside from the hungriness I feel.

I want him, I realize. After our conversation just then, our playfulness together and his cheeky sort-of innuendo I realize I want him. It's sort of frightening, because I haven't felt this way before. I've been waiting dutifully, rather loyally, for my soul mate to arrive and give me the gift of color. Despite us having only basically met, I find myself actually wanting Christian sexually. Something I have in no way felt before.

It's terrifying, yet exhilarating at the same time, I find, to want that. To experience wanting that.

Like all the things I've heard, from my grandmother, to my mother, there isn't any right time for this sort of thing. You just go with whatever feels right, regardless of the speed of it all. I suppose the next logical thing is to go back to Christian's place. Why overthink it so much like I've constantly been doing ever since this started between us? Frankly, I'm tired of overthinking.

"Is it a long drive to your place?" I force myself to ask, my voice coming out too soft, too breathless.

"It's about a twenty minute drive." He glances at me quizzically while taking another sip of his own wine, then he shrugs. "Why do you ask?" After a second, I think he gets it automatically. "Do you actually want to go back to my place afterwards?"

I nod, finding I want that more than anything. "Yes, I do. I think I'd like that."

He smiles at me, looking like he's won something. "I suppose you aren't as stubborn as I thought after all. You're not even putting up a fight like you did with the car?"

"Well, maybe I'm eager to see where you live and what it looks like?"

xxx

He lied. It wasn't quite a twenty minute drive to where he lives, but close enough.

We take an elevator up to the highest floor and as we reach it, the doors open to an all-white, spacious foyer. The walls are covered in various paintings, some landscapes that look beautiful. Ahead of us, is a large mahogany table with a bunch of white flowers. Already, I can tell where he lives is going to put where I live with Kate to shame.

"Just through here," Christian says, moving ahead of me. I remain behind him, taking my time, glancing around. He opens another large door and the white theme continues inside. His place is huge. High ceilings, a door that opens out to a balcony.

I think its the amazing view that impresses me the most. You can see everything. Skyscrapers, the dark sky. Stars shining. I'm astonished Christian doesn't just stand there by the glass windows, eyeing it for hours endlessly now that he is no longer colorblind. Its beautiful, the view.

"Wow," I gush out, though that seems an understatement. "Your place is... amazing."

"Glad you think so." He sounds truly pleased.

"It's amazing and... huge."

I wander into his living room area, eyeing the large U-shaped couch, the humongous flat-screen TV, while Christian disappears to a corner of the room, doing something. I'm not completely sure what he is doing, until I hear music starting to float heavenly around his house, echoing against the walls. Orchestral music. I recognize it the instant it begins to play as Liebestod- the song we both admitted to liking when we went out on our first date together. Grinning, I turn, finding him standing near a large stereo system, holding what seems to be an IPod device in his hand.

"I happen to have this song on my IPod," he explains. "Thought it would be a fitting piece of music to set the mood, considering how you told me its one of your favorites too."

"You remembered I said that," I say thoughtlessly.

He smiles at me, making my bones strangely feel like they have turned into mushy Jell-O. "Of course I remember. You only told me that a few days ago. My memory isn't quite that bad, fortunately."

I laugh, but get sidetracked by the large dining room table. You could literally sit a zoo-full of people on that thing. My eyes are caught on something else. He has a large grand piano.

"Do you play?" I ask curiously.

"I do. I've been playing since I was six years old."

How odd. I make a face, wondering over to it, the harmonious music of Liebestod filling my ears beautifully. I've always been drawn to pianos. I never knew what it was about them exactly, but there has always been something about them. I reach down, brushing my fingers over the polished wood.

"I've always liked pianos," I admit to him over the music. "There's always been something about them that I've liked."

"You have? Do you play yourself?"

I startle when I look behind me, realizing he is suddenly standing beside me. He lifts up the lid carefully with both hands, letting me admire it and stroke one of the keys. "I've never played, but I wanted to learn when I was younger. My mother said I couldn't, though. Apparently lessons were too expensive, but I've always been drawn to pianos for some reason." I glance up at him while pressing down on one of the keys. He's staring at me, watching me intently. I cannot believe it though; It's another thing we basically have in common. Well, sort of; Him playing piano well, me being drawn to the instrument inexplicably at a young age. "Do you play well?"

"I guess so," he says modestly. "I've been playing a long time. I've had a lot of practice."

"Well, since you were six years old, you said? That _is_ a long time?"

The music stops, then starts again suddenly, billowing around us. He must have put it on repeat on his IPod.

"Can I get you anything?" he asks, remembering his manners as I'm his guest, I suppose. "Would you like some more wine? Would you like me to take your jacket?"

"No, I'm good." I glance down at the piano again, pressing another key.

"Excuse me for a moment then," Christian murmurs, and he disappears off for a few minutes.

I have no idea where he's going or what he's doing. By the time I start to get too worried, he returns, holding a piece of paper in his hand. He's taken off his jacket, I can't help noticing. His shirt is tight on him, clinging to his skin, his biceps. He looks good. Real good.

"Do you want to sit down?" He asks, nodding back towards his large couch.

"Sure. Sitting sounds good." He takes my hand, surprising me, leading me to the couch.

We both sit, and I notice he holds onto my hand for a moment longer before letting it go. My hand seems to feel tingly at the loss of contact, bereft. His couch is very comfy. I wiggle a bit, finding it hard to concentrate, mainly due to the knowledge of him sitting beside me. I can almost feel that energy surging between us palpably. I don't even seem to hear the music in the background anymore; It's non-existent now. Now I'm anxious and too focused on other things. Like what I hope will happen between us.

When I glance up at Christian's face, he shifts slightly on the couch so that he can look me head-on. His expression is... strange. Guarded, almost. Then finally, he starts to explain what the paper is. "This is a non-disclosure agreement. My lawyer has always insisted on it."

 _A non-disclosure agreement? What? Why would he give me this?_

"What does that mean?" I ask, not bothering to hide my confusion. "And why would I need one exactly?"

"It means that you won't be able to disclose anything about us to anyone. It's... legally binding."

I stare at him, my brows furrowing. _Not disclose anything about us?_ When I agreed for him to take me back here to his place, I wasn't expecting this. I wasn't expecting any agreement thingies to come into this at all?

"But why would I need that?" I mutter, bewildered. "Why would I need a non-disclosure agreement? I mean, we're... we're soul mates? I mean, who would I tell? And what would I tell them? Why would you need to-"

He sighs loudly through his mouth, glancing down at the paper. He looks so... embarrassed for some reason, contrite. Then he nods. "No, no. You're right." Startling me, he grips the paper in the middle with both hands, then he tears it, without preamble. He tears the agreement into shreds, until it resembles little more than scrap paper. "You're right, Anastasia," he breathes. "We don't need this at all. I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" He's gotten me so confused. I still can't understand. "You don't need to apologize, but why would you need for me to sign that in the first place?"

"It's just something I've always done." He scrunches all the shredded paper up into a fist, running his other hand through his hair. "This is utterly new to me. _This_ way of doing it."

"And it's not new to me, too?" I wonder out loud. "I've never been in a relationship before, whereas you have, like I admitted to you. I feel like I don't even know what I'm doing right now to be honest."

"It's just... something I'm used to. It's something I've always done. I'm... _used to_ doing it this particular way."

"Something you're used to?" I repeat slowly. I still cannot understand. "Do you always ask people to sign those agreement things first thing you have them in your home?"

"Frankly?" Christian meets my gaze, his expression cautious. "Yes. Yes, I do, Anastasia. It's my... way of having all my bases covered, you could say."

"But why?" I laugh out loud in sheer shock. "Why would you need to?"

He glances away from me, avoiding my eyes. I feel my stomach sink. He's hiding something from me. I can almost sense it. But what reason would he have for hiding something from me? He's been pretty forthcoming so far, hasn't he? I just don't understand. He's seemed pretty straightforward and open so far about his life, but there is clearly something he isn't telling me. I think I'm a pretty decent judge of character. I can tell there is something he hasn't told me, though I'm not sure what exactly.

"Dance with me," he says suddenly, and he stands.

He holds out a hand towards me, his gaze unwavering, persuasive. I get the sense he is just doing it on purpose to evade answering my questions, but for now, I just go with it. Hopefully, whatever it is, Christian will feel welcome to tell me in his own time.

Since I cannot possibly resist with this sort of song choice, I accept his hand, and he yanks me to my feet.

Usually I'm used to dancing alone without a partner, making goofy moves, so I'm not totally sure how I'll go with a partner. To my surprise, it becomes fairly easy. I clasp onto Christian's hand while he slides his arm around my waist, and we move, doing a three step around his living area.

I never dreamed I would be doing this with someone, particularly not with Liebestod playing, but its surprisingly enjoyable. I end up cracking up with laughter when Christian dips me without warning, sending my long hair thrashing around me. When he pulls me up, I catch his expression and he looks humored, as if he's having fun himself.

Once the music comes to an end, I stop still, breathing heavily, flushed. I grin up at him when Liebestod starts playing on repeat again, for the forth time in a row. "You're an amazing dancer," I manage breathlessly.

"So are you."

My mind unconsciously drifts off to what happened today with Leila, his ex. How she ended up being outside the restaurant, how close they looked, how they argued, how in love with him she seemed. Did he ever have her over here too? I can't help wondering. I know it's ridiculous, the sort-of jealousy I feel at the idea of her being inside his house, when I know I truly don't have anything to worry about. _I_ gave him color, not her. We're destined to be together. I still can't bite back my curiosity though.

"Did she ever come over here?" I ask, placing my hand on his shoulder as he moves leisurely to the music again.

He leans his head closer, as if he's misunderstood me. "Who's that?"

"You know." I bite my lip, hesitant all of a sudden. Will he mind me asking? "Your ex? The one you tied those loose ends with when you met me and we gave each other color?"

"Leila?" Just as I feared, he doesn't look too pleased with me asking. He eyes me with distant, wary grey eyes. "She's the past, Anastasia. You're going to be my future. What does it matter, whether she's been in my house or not?" He's speaking through gritted teeth.

"I'm just curious, that's all. I want to know more about your past."

"Well, you don't have to be."

I frown at him, inspecting him closely. Why not be forthcoming anymore all of a sudden?

"You don't have to focus on or be so curious about the past," he explains gently, somewhat pleadingly. "All that matters, is right now, Ana. Just you and me." He lets go of my hand, reaching up, weaving his fingers through the back of my hair gently, looking deeply, sternly, in my eyes. I bring my hand away from his shoulder, reaching behind me, finding the back of his hand. I stroke it with my fingers as that peculiar current of electricity shared between us makes my skin feel as though its prickling. Due to his closeness, I find myself staring at his mouth, preoccupied by his lips. I realize I want him to kiss me. It makes it difficult to concentrate, but I try my best to focus. "Let's not dwell or overthink about the past. All right?"

I force a smile, nodding in agreement, though those niggling doubts won't leave me. I still get the suspicion he is not being honest about something.

 _Sorry for taking so long to update. Hope you are still interested? Would love to know your thoughts? Hope I'm doing okay with writing them? It's a bit scary at times being my first time but I hope I am doing okay with their characters. Christian's going to be hiding his submissive/BDSM/Dom past from Ana for a while, out of fear she'll turn away from him. Of course, once Ana finds out, there will be some drama._

 _Hope your having a great start to a new year!_


	9. Chapter 9

Thank you! Your reviews and alerts I have received are so positive and appreciated. I get so fearful writing as I'm not a confident writer so it helps. I appreciate the comments and feedback so much, so do keep them coming so I know what you think!

 _ **Shades of Black and White**_

His fingers play with the strands at the back of my hair, keeping me still.

 _Kiss me,_ I'm sure my eyes are pleading as I peer deeply into his. _Now's the time. Kiss me now, please._

His eyes shine as they peer into mine, some unidentifiable emotion glistening in them. Does he want to kiss me too, right now? Somehow, I feel he does. He must. Well, I'm hoping he feels it too. The need to kiss me. The longing, the wanting to.

His eyes drop down to my lips and I drag my tongue along them, moistening them instinctively. I can hear myself breathing laboriously, panting. I can hear him breathing loudly too.

"I want you to kiss me," I finally manage, my voice breathless, shy. I figure he isn't a mind-reader; He can't read what I want, or what I need. What I want is to feel his mouth on mine. And, apparently, what I want and need is what he wants and needs as well.

Christian's fingers curl and tighten in my hair, pulling and tugging at the strands a little. Then he bends down. The instance his lips touch and pucker against mine, soft and warm and closed-mouthed, I feel that weird current again, that charge, pulsing around my skin. I'm too immersed in the feeling of his lips against mine that I can hardly bring myself to wonder whether he feels it, too.

I allow my eyes to close, moaning into his lips as they move against mine, slowly, leisurely. Experimentally. It's the first time I have ever really been kissed like this by a man before, if ever. I reach up tentatively, stroking the side of his hair, as he turns his head to the side, and my lips finally part. He slides his warm, slippery tongue into my mouth, and it's the first time a guy has ever slipped his tongue into my mouth too. Oddly enough, it doesn't feel strange at all. The way he moves his tongue, sliding it against mine effortlessly to a rhythm that feels almost sensual, its nice. It feels right. Wonderful.

And then Liebestod, the music track on repeat playing through his stereo system skips and repeats eerily, as though its a CD and it keeps getting caught on a scratch.

His hand is still in my hair and he's using his other hand to cradle the side of my face, our mouths moving more intensely, more quicker and passionately. This only causes the stereo to make a strange sizzling noise, and then the track bumps and stops to a screeching halt.

We break apart at the sound, breathing heavily. I'm the one to laugh breathlessly in embarrassment while Christian smiles, striding briskly to his stereo system to fix it and turn off his IPod.

"Not sure what's happening there," he says, his voice sounding oddly strange, huskier. "Usually it plays fine. It doesn't do that normally." He switches it off, his place dead silent now without any music.

"Maybe it was due to us?" I mutter, teasing. "Maybe it can't stand the heat?"

"Maybe," he agrees, mostly to himself. He turns back to look at me, blowing through his mouth.

He's probably just as affected by the kiss as I am, and that reassures me. It's nice to know even I can have that effect.

He combs his fingers through his hair while slowly walking back to me again, and he reaches out, taking my hand by the forefinger with his middle finger and thumb. Just like that, I feel that feeling again. What is it? Will it ever go away?

"Can you feel that, too?" I ask nervously, just to be sure.

Christian nods once, licking his lips. "That energy?"

"Yeah, that energy." He plays with my finger, stroking the tip of it. I peer up at his face, worried. I just hope he's feeling it completely too and that it's somehow normal. "It's hard to describe. But you _are_ feeling it too, aren't you?"

"Like an electrical charge? A current? Something like that?" My ears are thrumming when he glides the pad of his thumb up and down my forefinger.

"Yeah, like... thrumming, almost?" I peer down, watching his thumb stroking my finger. Even something as simple as him stroking it, it makes my cheeks burn. "In your bones and... in your blood?"

"Yes, I feel it too lately." He inhales deeply. "Whenever I touch you, whenever I'm... near you. I feel it."

"Do you think its how everyone feels when they're with their soul mate?" I wonder out loud. I catch his thumb with my own by twisting it around, stroking his thumb this time. "Like everyone feels the same? That charge?"

"I'm not sure, Anastasia." He shrugs, inhaling out again. "I haven't really bothered asking before." Since I've got his thumb captive with mine, he lifts up, using his other hand. He scrapes his fingertips gently down my wrist, my palm, leaving a tingling sensation in his wake. I think I like his hands. Warm, masculine. Not too soft, but not too dry. They feel good touching me. I can tell I'm blushing at the thought, a small smile playing along my lips. "Do you want to stay at my place?" he suddenly asks, breaking me out of my distracted mood.

I glance up at him indecisively, biting down on my bottom lip. Do I want to stay over for the night? Yes, of course I do. My answer is already there the instance I peer up at him, meeting Christian's gaze.

"Yes," I answer hesitantly. "I think I would like to."

"There's no pressure. If you want, I can drive you back in your new car and then easily get Taylor to pick me up from yours. There's really no-"

"- No," I get out too hastily, desperately. The thought of leaving now, of separation, it's hard to contemplate. I almost feel a weird ache in my gut at the thought. "I definitely want to stay. Do you mind if I do?" I scrutinize his face anxiously.

"Of course not," he says with a smile. "I want you to. I just didn't want you to feel pressured, that's all."

"Well, don't worry." I grab the sleeve of his shirt, pushing it up and rolling it around his forearm. I don't know what I'm doing or where such confidence comes from, but I suppose this is like a harmless little game. I start running the tips of my fingers slowly down the inside of his warm forearm like he did me, all the way down to his palm and tips of his slender fingers, then back up again. It makes me feel content, blissful doing it. As though touching his skin is soothing, calming on me. "I definitely don't feel pressured, Christian."

I hear his breathing change faintly and when I peek up at him, I see he is watching my fingers carefully, following their movement. It's like he's entranced by the way my fingers are trailing back and forth over his skin, his mouth slightly parted. The look on his face... sort of slack, filled with enjoyment, it sends a weird gushing warmth straight to the center of my belly. It feels so good that I can seem to affect him, simply by touch alone. When he turns his gaze up to meet mine, he smiles at me, a closed-lipped, small smirk of a smile. I can feel my cheeks heating up again, damn it.

"Red," he murmurs with a chuckle. "Your cheeks are red again. You're blushing." Someone's been studying their color chart really well lately.

 _God, am I that obvious?_ I bite down on my lip, suppressing my own smile. I run my fingers down along his muscular arm again.

"It's strange." His breath hitches in his throat.

"What is?" When I peer up at him again, I see he isn't smiling or making fun of me anymore. He looks completely serious as he watches my fingers again, tracing down his arm, his palm, to his fingers.

"I actually like you touching me," he confesses, his voice strained.

"What's strange about that?" I ask in confusion, though I can't help feeling gleeful. _He likes me touching him, too._

"I just... I never thought I would."

At his words, I move my fingers away, clenching them tight in a fist. He didn't think he would enjoy me touching him? What's that supposed to mean? He's rather confusing at times.

"I never meant it like that," he says hastily, perhaps seeing something on my face. He grabs my hand, stroking my wrist with his thumb. "I just... it's difficult to explain." He looks torn, troubled, as he shakes his head. "I can't explain it completely to you."

"But why can't you?" I ask gently.

"I just can't, Ana." The words are filled with frustration. "A part of me feels that you..." He hesitates, sighing loudly. "I feel like you wouldn't understand."

"Well, I might understand if you let me? If you want to take the time to explain it to me so that I can understand?"

His forehead creases in irritation as he shakes his head again. "I can't."

"Okay." I'll try my hardest not to push him. It's like with that other thing too. With the non-disclosure agreement. There was something he was hiding; Something he wasn't ready to properly explain. Why push him into it? I can wait for now. Without warning, a yawn escapes me from nowhere.

"Are you tired?"

I have to think it through for a second. "I don't know. Not... really." I feel that annoying glow of heat to my cheeks again. "I mean, I don't feel like sleeping. There are... other things I sort of have in mind."

" _Other_ things?"

"Yeah." I'm too shy to elaborate, but I hope he gets it. I wouldn't mind kissing some more. Just kissing and relaxing next to him, talking, touching... And I think he does get it. He brings his hand away, stepping back from me.

"I'll go find something for you to wear to bed. I might have a T-shirt or something that might make you feel comfortable."

"Okay." I watch him go, while bringing up my knuckles on both hands, pressing them to both cheeks. God, I feel too warm. Too flushed. It's embarrassing.

When he returns into the room, Christian holds out a big white T-shirt. I take it from him, holding it against my chest. It will be baggy on me and too long, but sometimes it makes it all the more comfortable. I find myself liking the idea, perhaps too much, of wearing something that belongs to him.

"I'll show you where the bathroom is to get changed." He takes my hand, leading me away from his couch. We go down a carpeted narrow hallway, and then he opens a door, showing me to a rather spacious bathroom. It's all white tiles and a see-through glass window shower and even a huge claw-foot bath. "I'll leave you to it."

"Okay." He turns to look at me once last time, something there in his eyes, before he leaves me in peace.

As I close the door up, I let out a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I really shouldn't think too much of this. This is meant to happen and this is where I am supposed to be.

I kick off my flats, then I peel off my jacket, unbutton and take off my jeans. I catch my reflection in the large mirror as I shove off my shirt, eyeing my bra.

"Yellow," I whisper to myself, just to amuse myself, I suppose. "Your bra is yellow." I laugh to myself while sliding into his too large shirt, peering down at my bare legs. The shirt goes down to my thighs at least, so I don't feel too exposed. I lift up the bottom of it, just to check. "Black," I mumble to myself, eyeing my boy-leg briefs. "Your underwear is black and so not sexy for a man. But what else can we do about that right now?"

I peer at myself nervously in the mirror, making sure my face looks okay. I still look flushed and red as anything, which is irritating. But I think Christian likes the fact my cheeks go red every now and then, so that's at least something to feel good about.

All done, I reach down, grabbing my old clothes and my flats. When I push the door back open, I glance up and I stop dead still in my tracks, my heart racing.

Christian is standing there, waiting for me. Dressed in nothing but boxer shorts. _There goes my damn cheeks again._ I deliberately turn away, pretending I haven't noticed.

"Is the shirt comfortable enough?" he asks softly.

"Um, yes." I sound like I have a frog stuck in my throat. "It's very comfy."

I'm being ridiculous. Bracing myself, I force myself to meet his gaze from where he stands. You can't not help seeing the entire package. I may be focusing on meeting his gaze, but I see everything along with it. His toned chest. His muscular thighs because the boxer briefs are rather low.

"Blue," I gush out, just to break the ice. "Your... boxers are blue."

"That's right," he says, something there in his tone. Is he making fun of me right now? Is he privately laughing at my awkwardness? "And silk." I catch him running his hands down the sides of his boxers. "They're silk, too."

I glance down at my old clothes, feeling my cheeks burning. "Um, so where can I put my clothes? Is there somewhere I can put them for tomorrow?"

"Here, I'll take them." He steps forward and I avoid looking at him while he takes my stuff. "I'll show you where the bedroom is. It's just through here."

I follow him slowly, trying not to look at his body. But it's sort of hard not to. My eyes focus on the back of his thighs, at how powerful and muscular they look, as he walks. I never thought I'd want to be with a man so soon, but I find I definitely do.

We reach his bedroom and he puts my stuff on an old antique armchair near the window. His bedroom is huge. What's more, he's got the best view in his entire apartment of Seattle, I think. I gasp, moving towards the window, marveling it all. He's so lucky. It's beautiful.

"Who needs to bother with traveling all around the world to various locations when you get to see this every night?" I say, standing so close to the window my nose almost brushes against it. "It's beautiful. The lights. The stars and the sky. All of it."

"It wasn't as beautiful before," Christian says, and his voice comes from right behind me. I don't even need to glance behind me to know he's there. "It was... dull before. Very dark, always gloomy looking." I feel that feeling again, a surge of static electricity running up my legs. He's standing behind me, close to me. I can just tell. It's amazing how attuned my body feels to him, my soul mate. "Before, it seemed... constantly rainy out there. And bleak."

I feel my heart rate accelerate when he places a hand on my stomach, his fingers spread apart and outstretched. I bite my lip, trying not to breathe too loudly when he leans against me from behind. Now that he has, that thrumming has affected me everywhere. All over my skin, prickling me, making my legs feel like Jell-O again.

"I definitely like the way it is now." He rests his chin against my shoulder, the light stubble beneath his skin scratching me faintly.

"Me, too," I whisper softly in agreement. I reach down, placing my hand over his that's resting and stroking my stomach through his baggy T-shirt. "I definitely like how it looks a lot more now, too."

Christian turns his head, and I feel my stomach spasm in a not too unpleasant way as his nose and mouth brushes up against the side of my face. _What is he doing to me?_

"What do you want to do now, Anastasia?" he breathes against my skin, and I don't know what to think or what to do when he places his other hand on my thigh, slipping it beneath the end of his baggy shirt.

"Um, I... I don't know." A nervous laugh escapes me when he moves his hand around my thigh, beneath the shirt.

I feel like he's trying to seduce me. And while it's completely welcome and flattering, it's also frightening too. Disarming. He's so brave and bold and evidently so confident with his own sexuality and how it all works. I just feel rather... out-of-place and awkward right now, without knowing what to do. He's like a confident sexual beast. It's overwhelming. It's only been four days that we have known each other and already, here we are.

 _Four_ days. He was in a previous semi-serious relationship which he broke off for me. He's already brought me an expensive car. Took me out on multiple dinner dates. And now, here we are.

When Christian's fingers reach the side of my underwear, and he starts sneaking his fingers beneath the material, I have to stop it then. I reach down beneath the shirt, grabbing his hand, clasping onto it instead. Too fast. It just feels too fast in a way I'm not comfortable with right now.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, ashamed. "I just..."

I have never felt more sheltered in my life than I have now, not to mention angry with myself. I want him. I just... I'm scared. I've been waiting for this moment my whole life, meeting my soul mate, being loyal to whoever he was and making sure I waited for him and that I didn't experiment or do anything with anybody else, but him; the person that gives me back the gift of colors. And now I'm chickening out?

"Fuck," he breathes shakily, and when he pulls away from me, I feel like the most horrible person in the world. I've offended him.

I turn around quickly to look at him. Both hands are in his hair as he stares down at something on the ground. I can't see his expression all that well, but he seems... remorseful?

"Please, Christian," I get out quickly, wanting him to understand. "I do want you that way. I just... I need a little time. I need for us to take this a bit slower." I clasp my hands together in front of me, yanking my fingers. I really hope he doesn't think I don't want him, because I do. It's just... me. "Is that okay?"

Slowly, Christian moves his hands out from his hair. "That's fine, of course it is."

"Are you sure? Please know that I _do_ want you that way, and it's nothing you've done. I would just feel better if-"

"-We take it slow," he finishes softly. "I know, Ana. And I understand. It's fine."

I still feel terrible about it. Even when I step forward, grasping onto his forearms, rubbing them with my palms. "I _do_ want you."

"Really, Ana," he says, his voice low. Heartfelt. "It's fine."

I'm still doubtful it is truly fine, but then he reaches up with both hands, stroking my hair and the side of my face while he peers down at me through the dark of his bedroom.

"It's fine," Christian assures me again, and he kisses my cheek, then moves up to kiss my forehead as well. "We'll take it as slow as you need, of course." He runs his fingers through the strands of my hair, then places them on my shoulders, giving them a comforting squeeze. "There's no rush. We have the rest of our lives, after all."

 _Couldn't resist writing another chapter. Hope this is okay and that it isn't terrible. Hoping the decision I've made for Ana is okay. I guess she is a lot more innocent and shy at first, hope that is okay? Don't hate me **runs** This will have a happy ending but Ana will be confronted by the secrets Christian is keeping from her when his past returns to bite him in the behind, so quite some drama. More of their soul mate connection will come into view as well as Christian's possessiveness and paranoia over Ana's safety, particularly with Leila on the loose and his determination that his past isn't revealed due to fear Ana will think negatively. Will try update twice a week if can. Am eager for Fifty Shades Darker ;)_


	10. Chapter 10

_**Shades of Black and White**_

I glance over towards his bed uncertainly. Just like with most things in his house, it's larger than mine at the apartment. A king-sized bed, one spacious and enormous enough that it could easily fit four sleeping people on it possibly. For some reason, it doesn't surprise me, the exaggerated size of his bed.

"Do you mind if we just... sleep together in the same bed?" I ask apprehensively. I'm still not sure whether me refusing before and requesting we take this slow is truly okay or not, despite his extremely convincing reassurances. "If maybe we even lie together and talk a while?"

He runs a hand through his hair again. "Of course not, Anastasia. As I said, we can take however long you need. There's no rush." He moves towards the bed, grabbing a few decorative pillows, plopping them down on the floor at his feet. Then he pulls back the duvet, making his bed seem extra opening and inviting to me. "Ladies first," he murmurs, somewhat playfully. I know then that my request to take it slow truly hasn't disappointed him, and it makes me lighten up a whole lot more.

"Oh, well. If you insist, Sir," I say just as playfully, climbing up on the bed on all fours. Already, I can notice the high quality of his mattress. It feels very cushioned and airy. As I shove my bare feet beneath the covers, I let out a sigh, luxuriating in the immediate warmth and comfort.

When I smile up at Christian appreciatively from where he stands, I sense something is a little off with him. He's just standing there, completely still, although it is impossible to see him clearly due to the lack of light in the bedroom, aside from the dim yellowness that shines in through his opened bedroom window of Seattle. _Did I say something wrong already?_

"Everything okay?" I ask nervously, lying back against one of the pillows.

He seems to hesitate as he strides to the other side of the bed. "Everything's fine," he assures me, though I can notice an edge to his voice. "Your words just took me back for a moment there."

"My words? I'm sorry. What did I say?"

I get that unnerving feeling again; that hint or suspicion that he is evading me on purpose, that he is hiding something yet again. I ponder about it while he gets into the bed beside me, laying down. I still don't understand the sudden change in his forwardness. When we had those dinner dates together and were getting to know each other, he had always been quite honest and upfront about Leila, his ex, his family, and everything else in general. But the more time I spend with him, the more I notice he can be rather closed off and purposefully vague when he doesn't feel comfortable answering questions.

Like with the non-disclosure agreement he tried to pass off to me. How he didn't think he would like me touching him. Why won't he explain more about it? And why the odd reaction before when I said _"If you insist, Sir"_? Or perhaps I am just being paranoid and I am thinking too hard and am over-analyzing everything way too unnecessarily much?

It's like he said. _I'm his future._ But why is that not good enough for me?

I'm blinded momentarily by a sudden, unexpected hot white flash of light. I blink furiously, recoiling, until it occurs to me that Christian has only just switched on the small dome-shaped lamp on the bedside table on his side. He turns slightly on his side to peer down at me, lifting an arm to tuck his hand behind his head on the pillow while he scrutinizes my face carefully.

"Sorry, I should have warned you," he mutters apologetically, perhaps noticing the way I was blinking rapidly seconds before and the way my eyes are watering slightly. His voice is soft.

"It's okay. It just startled me a little."

I turn on my stomach, propping up my head, resting my chin against my forearm to look back up at him myself. I feel him push his toes up against my ankle, rubbing them against me. Just like that, that strange feeling overcomes me again at the mere contact alone. A soothing buzzing, content feeling, that current of energy. I still can't help wondering if it is something exclusively felt and shared between two people soul mated to each other.

We fall silent, doing nothing else but staring at each other, his grey eyes intent on mine, not touching aside from his toes and foot that he keeps rubbing against me now and then, making that electric current alive and running. I wonder what he thinks of me, if I'm what he expected as far as his soul mate goes. But when I run my eyes over his face, admiring him, for some reason I feel confident that he is admiring me, too. _He's so gorgeous. I feel like I could stare at him for years._

"Am I-?" I begin, but then I hesitate, biting my bottom lip.

"Are you _what_ , Ana?" he asks softly.

"Am I what you were expecting?" I ask, worried. When his lips part slightly and he seems puzzled by my question, I add, "Like... did you have some sort of preconceived image of what your soul mate might look like when you met her?" I don't know why I feel the need to know, but I suppose I am curious. "Do I come up to scratch or am I somehow... different?"

"You're... everything and more." _I'm everything and more._ I feel a surge of happiness flood through me at the tender words. But then he glances away from me, up at the ceiling for moment. He looks to be in deep pensive thought. "But honestly?"

When he drops his gaze back down at me, I nod, waiting anxiously.

His eyes seem to soften, shining gently as they reflect in the lamp light from his beside table. "Honestly, Ana, I had... _no_ preconceptions whatsoever." He glances away from me again, and I watch the muscles on his throat bunch up and move as he swallows loudly. "I always thought I was too... fucked-up to ever have a soul mate. That's why I never allowed myself to have any preconceived images or expectations of what she may have looked like or how she was."

 _He always thought he was too fucked-up?_ It shocks me. It makes no sense at all.

I shake my head in bewilderment, a short uneasy laugh escaping my throat. "Why would you assume you were too fucked-up?" I ask, dubious.

Christian inhales deeply through his mouth as he returns his gaze down to mine. His expression is resigned. "Because I am," he whispers with a shrug.

"But you're not? How are you in any way too fucked-up?" It just... stuns me that he could ever begin to think that about himself. How can he? He mustn't see himself the way I am seeing him right now, I realize. I see him to be so handsome, so interesting. He is in no shape or form the definition of fucked-up in my eyes. It even wounds me a little that he would perceive himself that way. It astounds me. Is that honestly what he thinks?

The atmosphere between us has seemed to change a little, I sense. It seems so bleak and dismal, somehow, just hearing how he perceives himself. Maybe asking him that was wrong? Instead, I strive for something else to say. I recall our first meeting, how I had done the interview for Kate. With her questions, I had found out he was adopted at an early age, but he hadn't elaborated.

"I know when I went to interview you, that you said you were adopted at a young age?" I hope it isn't too personal to speak about. "Did you know your real biological parents at all? Do you remember them?"

I study his face carefully, watching him as he moves his head away, peering up at the ceiling again. The shift in his expression, how solemn he looks, how tense. Immediately, I get the impression that I have put my foot into it again. He isn't comfortable talking about the subject of before his adoption either. But why? Why can't he share these things with me? I thought that, since we gave each other the gifts of color, it would mean that he would automatically feel me trustworthy and that he would be comfortable sharing all facets of his life with me?

Because the lamp light illuminates him fairly well, I get a good glimpse of his chest then, seeing as the duvet is only draped lowly around his waist. I notice them the instance I glance down briefly. There are small, round puckered white marks around the front of his chest. My blood seems to go cold as my one of my hands fly down beneath the material of his baggy shirt he gave me to wear, my fingers instantly locating the birthmarks on my chest, slightly raised beneath the skin. My eyes widen as I stare at his chest while fingering them absently. _He has birthmarks too! We have matching birthmarks on the same place on our chests! How is this possible?_

"You have birthmarks in the exact same place, too?" I gush out in disbelief before I am able to stop myself.

Christian, probably noticing something there in my facial expression, looks down at his chest too at where I'm gaping at. I feel his entire body and muscles tense beneath the sheets and when I glance up at his face, I see he looks panicked, his eyes wide.

"How did you get yours? Or were you born with them too?" Uncurling my hand out from the shirt, I reach up, about to stroke his as well. In a split second, he is catching my hand before I can so much as even brush my fingers against his skin, his breathing altering, going faster, unsteady.

"Ana, don't," he says harshly, and I realize I've made him angry.

Chastised and shocked by his reaction, I wrench my hand out of his, placing it back beneath the covers to rest on my side, my cheeks boiling. I feel embarrassed, rejected... all things at once. Why won't he let me touch him there?

An aggravated noise squeezes through his gritted teeth as he tilts his head back, covering his hand over his eyes. He is still panting heavily. His reaction unnerves me to the point where I feel my eyes begin to water. I just don't understand.

"I-I'm sorry," I whisper in embarrassment. "I didn't think that it would-"

"- _I'm_ the one that should be sorry," he breathes, and his voice shakes. "And I am. I just... I don't like being touched there. I never have."

I hear him inhale in deeply, calming himself. Once he seems better, he slowly removes his hand from his eyes, glancing down to look at me again. There's sadness shining in his eyes, remorse.

"I'm sorry," he says again sincerely, and he reaches towards me desperately.

Finding my hand, he interlaces his fingers through mine, then he brings it up towards his face. He presses a few soft, opened-mouthed, penitent, hot kisses around my knuckles and wrist, lessening the blow to his unexpected and severe reaction. Though still ice-cold with shock, I thaw out, bit by bit, with each reverential kiss he lays on my hand.

"It's okay," I assure him, though my voice is too uneven, too fearful. "I just... You need to tell me these things, Christian." I swallow against a painful lump that has formed in my throat. "Otherwise I won't know."

"Here." He guides my hand up towards his cheek, and then he lets go, letting me brush my palm up against the side of his face. "You can touch me there." I caress his cheek and slowly drag my fingers up through his hair, stroking the soft strands of it. He swallows loudly and breathes out raggedly through his lips again, his eyes on mine, hardly blinking. "My face and hair are fine, and so are my arms, Anastasia. It's just... _there_ that I don't like."

Finally. Finally he is telling me some of his flaws, some of what he doesn't like as a person. And it helps; I think its mainly what I wanted from him. He needs to trust and tell me, even if I don't know the reasons or motivations behind why he doesn't like being touched there. But it's a start.

000

When I wake, it's reasonably light. I open my eyes, at first disoriented by my unfamiliar surroundings and the too-extravagantly large and spacious bed that I'm in. Then I remember last night.

I'm sleeping at Christian's, in his bed.

I stretch out, expecting to feel Christian beneath the sheets. I spread out my legs, anticipating the moment my bare ankle rubs against his, only... it doesn't. I sit up against the pillow, glancing to the space beside me. It's empty. Christian's gone. He must already be awake. Why didn't he bother waking me then? Surely he knew I wouldn't have minded?

I lounge around for a couple of minutes, stretching and rubbing my eyes, trying to waken myself up completely as I peer out the window at the gorgeous surroundings of Seattle that envelops me. Then other basic needs come to surface. I need to pee really badly, though not for the life of me can I remember where Christian said the bathroom was in his house last night. Did he end up telling me?

I pull the covers back, climbing out of the bed. It's fairly cold this morning and the need to use the bathroom intensifies as I shiver clad in just one of Christian's T-shirts. I wrap my arms over my waist as I exit the bedroom, wandering down the carpeted hallway, trying to remember the route to his kitchen.

I hear his voice just as I reach the end of the hallway. He's talking to somebody.

"I don't understand why this wasn't done in the first place..." Whoever he is talking to, he is barely keeping in his temper. He's mad. Someone has him annoyed this morning. "Yeah, well nobody notified me of this..." _Thwack._ I hear a strange slapping noise. "Did you notify Andrea?" _Thwack._ "Just call me and get it done. Send through the details." _Thwack._

My curiosity getting the better of me, I edge quietly to the end of the hallway while pressing my legs together to resist the urge to pee, peeking. Christian is standing behind his large sofa, shirtless but dressed in light grey track pants, his phone still held up to his ear. In his other hand, he grips something, something that makes a resounding _thwacking_ noise as he throws it, overhand, on the back of his leather couch. He uses it with skill, his muscular forearm rippling each time the thing connects and ricochets off the back of his couch. There seems to be strands of leather or something attached to the end of it. What is it? Is that some kind of... whip or flogger?

Without warning he glances in my direction and feeling guilty and caught out, I duck back, locating the bathroom at once. _God, good going. Now he'll probably think I was snooping or something._ I close the bathroom door shut softly. Once I'm done using the toilet, I flush, and wash my hands, inspecting myself in the mirror. My hair is everywhere, probably from sleeping too comfortably in his bed last night. I wet my fingers again, then attempt to tame the wayward strands.

Once I get back out, I reach down, trying to stretch the shirt a little so it covers my bare legs a bit more modestly. As I reenter the room, I notice Christian must be done with his call now. He blinks as he looks at me from where he stands, his cell still in one hand. He must have hid the flogger thing once he realized I was up, because I see its mysteriously vanished now. He looks me over slowly, appreciatively, before his mouth curls into a small smile. I can't tell what he's thinking at all.

I'm the first to break the silence awkwardly. "Morning. You sounded very frustrated on the phone just then?"

"Work," he says quietly with a heavy sigh. "I had some business to deal with. Strictly work related."

"Is everything okay?"

"It is now." He tosses the cell around in both hands, that smile still playing along his lips. "I like you wearing my clothes," he says, and his eyes run down the length of his baggy T-shirt and my bare legs again.

That annoying heat hits my cheeks again. _When will I ever stop feeling childishly blushy around him?_ "Do you?"

He nods once, licking his lips. "I do. You're not trying to make it easy, are you?" He reminds me of a hungry animal all of a sudden, like any second now, he's about to pounce and attack me. I've never really been treated like the object of someone's desire before so it's...nice. Refreshing. "Did you sleep well?"

"I did. Your bed is very comfy, although... it was sort of lonely to wake up and find you weren't still there beside me."

His phone rings all of a sudden, startling us both, and he gives me an apologetic look. "I have to take this," he says with a frustrated sigh.

"That's fine. Go ahead. I might go get changed anyway."

"I might have to go into work to deal with this," he calls after me by way of explanation regretfully. "There's been an issue I need to help rectify. If you want, I can drive you back to your place before I head in?"

"Okay," I agree, even though my heart sinks with disappointment at the thought of separation so soon. _And we don't even get to spend breakfast together..._ "Sounds great."

As I pad my way back into the bedroom, I can't help smiling to myself as I see the messy sheets on the bed and the crinkled pillows. So far, we have survived one night together, sleeping beside each other. And yet, oddly enough, I still feel as though I don't know the true him enough yet. There is a distance there, something I feel is within him. But hopefully I'll be able to break through.

 _Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Sorry if the pace is a bit slow. It will pick up next few chapters. Liking? Hating? I value your thoughts. Thank you! Sorry if really bad too, I know I'm not too good with writing. I'm not confident with it at all. I know Christian is rather cold right now (he does really like Ana, he just isn't sure how to show it and is used to being non hearts and flowers and acting with Submissives. He'll learn he can't be that way soon and more exciting things will happen.) I suppose I am just trying to build their relationship as they get to know each other, but soon Christian will be just as smitten. Hang in there if you can :) Sorry for its being boring right now.._


	11. Chapter 11

**_Shades of Black and White_**

Fully changed in all but my shoes, I reach down, grabbing them as I head back out of the bedroom. I faintly hear Christian's voice as he talks with someone again, only this time it isn't on the phone and he doesn't sound irritated. No, this time he's talking to someone inside his house. Another man.

"You know me, Taylor. You know I'm no good at this, but... I want to do it right." I stop still, leaning my shoulder against the wall while awkwardly slipping my feet into my flats, eavesdropping. Christian sounds desperate and worried. "What usually works for you?"

"Usually, Sir, I find flowers work extremely well with Gail," I hear a man with a deep voice reply. Taylor, Christian said his name was? I remember him mentioning him once. Taylor is his driver? "I can only base what I know off of how Gail responds, of course. But when it comes to women with flowers, usually you can never go wrong. Flowers and lots of dates. Go see a movie together. Do something lighthearted and fun, give her a few gifts, show her you appreciate her. Then the rest will follow."

I grin to myself while fixing up my fringe and tucking my hair behind my ear, making sure I look decent, even although I'm wearing last nights old clothes. _Christian's seeking relationship advice from another man?_ Well, that's what it sounds like to me, anyhow. How funny.

I've been so sneaky the past few hours. I make myself known nervously, stepping out into the room. I find Christian standing by the foyer with a man I haven't seen before. He's dressed sharply to the nines in a pin-striped suit with a baby blue button up shirt underneath, an earpiece in his ear. Christian and him both fall eerie silent the instance I walk over to them, and the man smiles kindly at me. He looks to be about in his forties, his hair and bristles of his slightly red stubble beard graying a little.

"Taylor, this is Anastasia," Christian introduces, taking my hand. He's already dressed himself, very nicely in a business suit and tie. "Anastasia, this is Taylor."

I smile Taylor's way nervously as he extends a hand. We both shake while he nods at me.

"Ma'am, nice to finally meet you." His blue eyes sparkle with unexpected happiness as he looks between Christian and I. It's humbling.

"Nice to meet you too, Taylor. Please, call me Ana."

"Ma'am," he says, nodding again. _Okay, so he's clearly going to ignore my advice..._ He turns to Christian, appearing suddenly business-like and solemn. "I'll wait outside and trail behind you, Sir."

"Excellent, Taylor."

Taylor leaves, and then Christian runs his free hand down his suit, checking his pockets to make sure he has everything. "Ready, ma'am?" he asks me, mocking Taylor, and I beam, happy that he seems to be in a playful mood. It makes me feel that more relaxed when he is for some reason. I feel less nervous that way.

"Yes, I am good and ready to go, Mr Grey, Sir," I mutter back, mocking Taylor too. Christian grins and guides me out of his penthouse.

xxxx

I finally get to have a good feel of what my new car, my new bright red Audi, looks like and how it drives. Surprisingly, it's smoother on the road than what my old trusty BMW was. Christian drives, handling the car with ease while I open the glove compartment and look around, admiring all the new perks and different features of the car. I still can't help feeling a bit funny about accepting such an extravagant thing from Christian, but what can I do about that? I've already accepted it, after all. The least I can do is act extremely grateful.

"Thank you so much again," I whisper, sliding my hand along the leather seats. The car even smells brand new. It has that nice leathery smell.

"You're welcome, Ana. But don't thank me anymore. You already did that."

 _Don't thank him anymore?_ I peer over at him where he sits in the driver's seat. He's wearing black tinted sunglasses, shielding his eyes from the bright early morning sun. "I'm not used to someone getting me something like this," I admit. "So I feel like it's necessary to keep thanking you and to express my gratitude."

He sighs loudly, glancing my way. I can't even see his eyes through the sunglasses, though I admit, they look rather good on him. "That wasn't why I got you this, Ana. You don't have to express your gratitude. As I said, it's what I do. It's just what I'm used to."

There is that confusing comment again. _It's what he's used to?_

"What? So you're used to buying cars for people?"

He shifts a little in the seat, glancing forward. Why do I get the sense he is avoiding my gaze, even with glasses on? "I am," he says shortly. "It's... my way of showing that I care."

"So you care about me?" I ask, a little uncertainly. I don't know why I feel so relieved with him telling me that.

Christian glances my way again, before reaching over. He takes my hand, clasping it gently in his, holding my hand in my lap. He squeezes. "Of course I do." Some strange look passes over his face as he returns his gaze to the road, a sort of odd mischievous look. "Although I wonder..." He stops suddenly, letting it linger.

"You wonder what?"

"I wonder if you would allow me to get bulletproof glass on the windows of this thing."

 _Bulletproof glass windows?_ My head reels. _Is he serious?_

"You're kidding," I mutter with a laugh. I expect him to laugh along with me, only he doesn't. When I peer up at his face again, watching him as he drives, it occurs to me that he is actually being somewhat serious. He looks solemn as he turns in the seat, glancing behind us, doing a head check while making sure Taylor is following in his car. _What the hell? He actually is serious about getting bulletproof windows in the car_? "Christian," I laugh again, squeezing his hand with my fingers. "You are so not getting bulletproof windows on the car."

He throws a look at me, his lips pressed together in a firm line. "Why not, Ana? It seems like a very good idea to me?"

"Why would I need bulletproof glass on the windows?" I ask, unnerved by how seriously he is taking this. I thought he was just playing with me and making a cheeky joke. Apparently not. "In this day and age, I think it's hugely unlikely anyone would shoot through my windows with a gun. We're not exactly in a James Bond action movie, are we?"

"Well, I don't want to take any chances. Like you said with your grandmother going colorblind, I don't want to risk it." Why do I get the feeling this is turning into an argument?

"Christian, absolutely not," I protest, flexing my fingers tightly over his in warning. "That's just ridiculous. Besides, I already agreed to let you buy me a newer, fancy safer car because you were concerned about my old BMW. But getting bulletproof glass on the windows?" I shake my head, laughing again in disbelief at the thought. "I think that's going too far. That's being too paranoid." I scrutinize his face, wanting to make sure he is following me. It's hard to tell though. "So, under no conditions are we getting bulletproof glass on these windows, okay?"

He doesn't answer.

"Christian?" I press seriously. "Okay?"

"Okay," he murmurs after a second, relieving me. "No bulletproof glass, then. Happy?" Finally, he turns his head, looking at me, a somewhat sarcastic smile playing along his lips.

"Yes, I _am_ happy. Thank you for listening to me and for indirectly agreeing that you're being paranoid."

"I don't agree that I'm being paranoid," he says, but he says it lightly so I know it isn't becoming an argument. "But what I _do_ agree with is no bulletproof glass if you don't want it."

 _Thank God._ "Thank you," I say again exaggeratedly.

"What are you doing tomorrow night?" He asks, startling me by how rapid he can change topic right now.

"Um, nothing that I'm aware of," I say slowly. "Why?"

Christian glances forward at the road, his jaw muscles twitching. "Because I want to spend time with you again."

Suddenly it isn't as difficult knowing that we will be inevitably separating once we reach the apartment when I know he wants to see me again. "Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow night. I thought we could see a movie together? Do something... lighthearted and fun?"

My belly muscles clench when automatically I replay the conversation Christian had with Taylor inside his place, how he was giving him suggestions and advice. Of course Christian can't know that I was eavesdropping.

"Okay," I agree happily. I'm pleased nevertheless. "So we'll catch a movie together tomorrow night?"

He glances down at me, squeezing my hand again. His look is soft, somewhat tender. "That's what normal people do, don't they?" he asks me, and I catch a funny tone to his voice. "Normal, regular couples see movies together and all that sort of stuff?"

 _Normal regular couples?_ "Yes, I think they do. I'm looking forward to it then."

He smiles at me. "Me, too."

We reach the apartment I share with Kate, and Christian pulls up in my regular, usual spot. I feel bereft of his touch when he wiggles his fingers out of mine, climbing out of the car. He walks over to my side, opening my door for me while I see him looking back at Taylor in the car, gesturing for him to wait with a hand movement.

I glance at his lips while waiting for him to say goodbye. I didn't realize parting would be this difficult and awkward, but I feel better knowing that we are at least doing something together again tomorrow night. He peers down at me and its frustrating that I can't see his eyes with the glasses on. Is he going to kiss me goodbye? Does he want to kiss me goodbye too?

"So tomorrow then?" he asks softly while locking up my new car.

"Definitely tomorrow."

"Pick you up at six thirty? Here?"

"Sure." I nod, staring at his mouth, hopefully in a meaningful, obvious way. "I can't wait."

He reaches up to tuck a stray tendril of my hair behind my ear. It's impossible to work out what he wants to do. He leans forward, and I think he's examining my ear carefully for some reason. "You have your ears pierced?" he asks.

My ears pierced? What would he want to know that for? Huh? "I do, but I keep forgetting to wear earrings."

He rubs my earlobe between his thumb and forefinger, making me tingle with that charge of static electricity again. Then finally, he leans down completely, pressing his lips against mine. All too soon, he pulls away so that it's just a soft, quick closed-mouthed kiss, and I feel disappointed when he pushes the car keys in my hand.

"I better get into work," Christian murmurs, and he moves away from me.

I watch him go, a weird ache forming in my gut as he glances at me with a small smile before getting into Taylor's car. He presses a button in the backseat, unwinding the automatic tinted windows so I can see him leave as Taylor pulls back out onto the road. He stares at me as the car goes past at a slow pace, and I have to suck in a deep, unsteady breath once he disappears from my vision.

But we have tomorrow night together again at least. You'd think Christian was going away to Europe or something for the rest of his life considering how achy I feel in my chest, how empty now that he's gone.

Someone whistles behind me loudly, and when I turn, I discover Kate has come to meet me outside. She's leaning against the door, looking stunned, eyeing my fancy new red car. "Whoa," she mutters under her breath. "Nice, hot-looking new car. So you agreed for him to get you a new car after all, huh?"

"I did, although I still feel funny about it."

"Why?" She rolls her eyes at me, like I'm being ridiculous. "Ana, there's no harm in letting him if he wants to. Besides, he's like... super rich. It isn't like he doesn't have the money for it."

I could hardly care whether he had money or not. We gave each other a world of color, _that's_ what I care about. Not money, or cars, or presents. I just wish he would open up to me more. I smile at her, coming up to meet her while twirling the keys.

"Yeah, it _is_ a pretty nice car, right?" I turn and look at it myself, still shocked that it's actually mine. It's so new the sun shines brightly off the glossy, pristine paint. "Who would have thought I would be saying goodbye to my trusty old BMW that was passed down to me from Granny Rose?"

"It's about time, I say." Kate looks me over, and I see something there on her face. I can tell she's waiting for some juicy details. She's grinning from ear to ear. "Well? How'd it go with Mr Fancypants Soul Mate?"

"Mr Fancypants Soul Mate?" I repeat, laughing at the nickname. "Somehow, Mr Fancypants is a very apt way of describing him."

"Come on, Ana." She groans. "Quit avoiding the subject. How did it go last night? I noticed you never came in? You slept over at his place?"

She wants to know if we had sex and whether we embraced our soul mate connection by consummating it. "Kate," I warn her uncomfortably, pushing past her, heading inside. I could do with a hot drink right now, seeing as Christian and I didn't have time to even have breakfast.

"Ana, please. I'm really curious, if you haven't noticed?"

"Oh, believe me. I've noticed." I toss the keys on the counter, grabbing a cup while switching in the kettle. Kate gives me her best wounded puppy look.

"I'm just so envious. I wish I could meet mine already. I just want to know what it's like."

Seeing as I feel sorry for her, I give in. "Okay, well. If you must know, we're taking it slow." I grab another cup in gesture, and she nods, so I get ready to make us both one.

"Take it slow?"

"Yeah. I just... I feel it's better if we do." I shrug, avoiding her gaze while I get two teabags out. "I mean, there's plenty of time, isn't there?"

"Huh." She crosses her arms over her chest. examining me. She looks so confused. "And he didn't even try anything last night?"

"He definitely did." I feel a warmth spread across my chest and face as I remember him standing behind me, how his hand went beneath his shirt I was wearing. Touching my thighs, his fingers almost slipping into my panties. "But I didn't feel ready yet, so he agreed to wait and be patient."

"Well, okay then. So long as he isn't pressuring you?"

"He really isn't, Kate," I assure her.

"And what about the connection?" she asks eagerly. "Does it feel weird?"

"Weird is a very good way to describe it," I admit wryly. "It's so weird. Like every time we touch, we feel this energy together. This..." I hesitate, unsure how to explain it so she understands. "This radiating surge of energy. Something like that."

"Sounds pretty intense," she says dreamily, then she frowns.

"It's okay, Kate," I reassure her fondly. "You'll find yours soon enough. Just be patient."

"Patient?" she mocks, and her voice cracks. "I feel like I've been trying to be patient for the last twenty-one damn years. It's tiring! I just want to meet mine already!"

"I know you do," I laugh sadly. "And it _will_ happen eventually. I _promise_."

"I hope so. I'm sick of not being able to see properly."

Poor Kate. I know the feeling and I know it must be unfair to her, with how I can see things so clearly now and she can't. In all honesty, I wouldn't change this for the world. I'm seeing the entire world with brand new eyes now. It's the best feeling in the world- not just knowing I have Christian now, that the future is sort of unfolding between us. But also color, too.

"So what's happening? When are you two meeting again?"

"Tomorrow, actually." My heart races in excitement at the mere thought. "We're going to see a movie together."

As we sip at our mugs of tea, I realize I need to call my mother more than anything. I need her advice. Who knew she would come so in handy lately?

I excuse myself from Kate, bringing my steaming mug of tea into my bedroom with me while carrying my phone. I shut the door gently, finding Mom's number. She answers on the forth ring while I sit on the edge of my bed, supporting my cup on my knee.

"Hello, honey," she speaks, her voice warm.

"Hey, Mom."

"How are things settling along? What's been happening?"

It's been a while since I last spoke to her and so many things have moved forward between Christian and I. I fill her in- aside from the too-personal things, like Christian and I agreeing to take it slow as far as sex goes, of course.

"Sounds like things are going well," Mom observes happily afterwards.

I think about his secrecy, how confused he sometimes left me the night before. The things he said and did. The non-disclosure agreement, not touching the marks on his chest, similar to my birthmarks on my chest. How he didn't speak much about his past, about Leila and his biological parents. How it feels like he is hiding something vital. "Yeah, it _is_ going pretty well, Mom."

She must hear something in my voice. Mom knows me so well. Too well. "Ana, is there something you wanted to talk to me about? I can tell your a little... upset?"

I breathe in deeply, then take a sip of my tea. How to even begin to explain?

"Mom, did Ray seem... closed-off at first?" I ask her, picking my words with care. "Like was he somehow... reluctant to talk too much about the past and his life with you?"

She's silent for a moment. "It's been so long since I can remember, honey," she admits thoughtfully. "Is that how it is with you and Christian?"

"Yeah. He won't talk to me much about personal things, like his previous relationship. He won't tell me about it."

"Well, honey, some men are like that." Just by a few words, Mom can manage to reassure me somehow. "Some men find it hard to wear their hearts on their sleeves. It's what makes women and men so different. Women are more open about their past relationships and feelings, whereas I think men tend to be a little more closed-off emotionally."

"So Ray was like that for you, too?" I ask her uncertainly.

"He's certainly still like that now, honey. He can be affectionate, of course. But he doesn't talk too much about personal things such as feelings. I think that's just how men are, honey. They were raised differently compared to girls. They think they have to be strong and silent, and don't wear what's on their hearts so much."

It definitely reassures me. It's like a weight off my shoulders to hear Mom say that. "I just assumed that, because we're soul mates, he would instinctively trust me and be emotionally vulnerable to me, but he isn't?"

"Like I said, that's just men for you, honey." Mom laughs at something, and I think I can hear Ray say something in the background. He must be in the room. "Ray said for me to tell you that men are hardhearted bastards on the outside, but inside, they're soft as jelly. It's just the way they are. They're pains in the asses." She laughs again and it's so good to hear her laugh and be happy with Ray still, even although they've been married for so long and soul mated.

I smile at the sound of her and Ray messing around, feeling happier now that she's reassured me. "Well, thank you, Mom. It means a lot to hear it. I just worried because he seems to closed-off and distant at times, like he's keeping something from me?"

"It's only been a short while since you've met, right?"

"Yeah. Only four days."

"See, it's still early times, baby. He'll open up more as time goes on. What you'll learn very early, is that just because you're soul mates, it doesn't mean it will be completely magical and smooth sailing from hereon out. It's also like a normal relationship, something I've learned since being with Ray all these years. You have to work hard at it, and then it will all eventually fall into place and get easier. I think we get too caught up in the idealization of what's to come regarding soul mates; in school, they hype it up so much, making it a fairy-tale- and in a big way, it is amazing and magical- so its a bit shocking when it becomes far different in reality than what we expected."

"Okay, Mom."

"With some time, I have no doubts he'll feel more comfortable opening up, sweetie. It's just that like with everything, it takes some time."

"Okay," I whisper.

"Is that all you wanted to ask me? Can I help with anything else that's worrying you?"

"No, that's everything right now, Mom. Thank you so much."

"Anytime, baby." I feel strangely teary-eyed at her motherly concern and at how profoundly I appreciate her words of wisdom right now. "You just call me anytime you're needing some advice, okay?"

"Thank you, Mom. I'll call again if I need you. Bye."

"Okay. Love you too, honey. Bye."

We hang up and I plop my cell down on my bed, sitting in silence, sipping at my tea. I hope Mom's right and maybe she is? Maybe men are completely different than women. That's what they always say anyway, isn't it? Men aren't as comfortable showing their vulnerable side as women? They keeps things closer to their chests?

Suddenly I feel a bit foolish for worrying so much, but I do hope Christian will learn to confide more in me soon. I want to know everything about him, after all. Because I think that's what I'm here for. We're supposed to be able to trust and talk to one another openly about things. At least I'm seeing him tomorrow though.

xxx

It's six o'clock when Kate and I are just settling down to eat our dinner. We cooked a vegetable stir-fry. Or well, _I_ cooked, while Kate helped chop the vegetables. Kate isn't so good at cooking, bless her, so I seem to be the one that does it most of the time. Kate carries her steaming plate into the living room to sit on the couch to watch the TV while I wipe down the stove of grease before I grab my plate and take it in. That's when my phone rings and goes off.

I jump, moving frantically to grab it from the table before I miss the call. I check Caller ID and, surely enough, it's Christian. I wonder why he's calling me. Does he maybe have to change our plans for tomorrow?

I press answer, holding the phone up to my ear nervously. "Hi, Christian," I breathe.

"Hi," he breathes back, and the familiarity of his voice washes over me, making me feel strangely content and happy. "How are you?"

"I'm good. I just finished making dinner so Kate and I were about to sit and eat. How are you?"

"Oh. I can call back later if you'd like? Let you eat?"

"No, that's fine." I fall silent for a moment, waiting for him to speak, to explain why he is calling. I'm almost expecting some bad news. "Is everything okay?" I bring myself to ask nervously when it's silent on his line.

"Everything's good." He sighs loudly. I think I can hear tapping on his end. Is he on a laptop? "I just wanted to hear your voice. I..." He hesitates, and I can sense his anxiety on the other line. "I needed to hear it."

He needed to hear my voice? "Where are you?"

"I'm still at work, actually. I'm in my office."

I throw a look over at the time. It's 6.10 in the evening. "You're still at work? It's dinner time, though?"

"I know. I have a lot of work to do. I just thought I'd give you a call, see how you were."

"And hear my voice?" I tease softly, copying his words.

"Yes, _and_ hear your voice, Anastasia." I think he's smiling. I feel like he is. "To hear your voice _especially_."

I feel like my mouth is going to rip apart with the way I am grinning so hard at that. "Are we still on for tomorrow?" I ask hopefully. "Or has something came up at work?"

"We're _definitely_ still on tomorrow," he assures me, and my heart lifts in relief. "I'll go, leave you in peace to eat your dinner. Make sure you eat it all."

It's so strange, him calling me. I wasn't expecting it, considering we are seeing each other tomorrow. Unless he misses me? My heart seizes with happiness at the thought. "Make sure you eat something for dinner too," I tell him, and then I cringe at how motherly I sound. "Can't have you wasting away while slaving away overtime in your office."

"I will." He chuckles, the sound making my belly clench. "See you tomorrow then. Sleep well tonight."

"I will, Christian, and you too."

I wait for him to hang up first. It takes him about a minute to. I listen to his breathing, until the phone clicks off. I set my phone down, grinning. How odd that he called though, although it was incredibly nice of him. I think he definitely misses me and wanted to hear my voice. It's so sweet, and as I carry my plate in to sit on the couch, I am aware of how my mood has changed abruptly due to his call and hearing _his_ voice. I feel lighthearted, as though I'm drunk or something. I feel absurdly happy. I hope this feeling lasts.

xxx

I end up getting a text the next morning to head in to work at Clayton's for a six hour shift, so I spend the morning until the middle of the afternoon there, busy, helping people with finding products and hardware they need for renovating and building their dream homes. I'm pleased for the distraction, I find, otherwise I would be just aimlessly waiting around at the apartment, eager and anxious for Christian to pick me up for our date to the movies together.

When I get home, Kate helps me get prepared for my night with Christian. I truly am blessed to have a friend like her, even if she is colorblind and she keeps getting the colors wrong on the clothes she is trying to help me pick out for my outfit. We both giggle and have a good time with helping me get prepared, which in turn makes me feel more relaxed about seeing Christian.

Then she tortures me by demanding I sit on the closed toilet seat while she plucks my eyebrows, a very painful process. I want to dress neat, but casual, seeing as we're going to the movies and I don't want to look overdressed and out of place. We settle on my best black jeans, my Converse sneakers, a ruffled aqua blouse (I had to check my color chart. Apparently aqua isn't blue), and my leather jacket in case it rains.

I feel comfortable and casual for the movies. By the time Christian's car pulls up, he's about ten minutes early.

"Okay. You look great," Kate assures me, shoving me towards the door. I know she wants me to introduce him, but I'm anxious to let her. I know she can be extremely protective of me and she might frighten Christian off, making him feel uncomfortable. "Should we wait for him to knock so that I can meet him?"

"I don't know, Kate. You might scare him off."

"Oh please," she scoffs. "I'll be on my best behavior. I just want to make sure he treats you right, even if he is your soul mate and you're practically destined to be."

"Fine," I give in. "But be nice."

She pinkie-promises with me, something we haven't done since we were eight years old and kids together. Then Christian knocks on the door and within a split second, Kate pounces at the door, wrenching it fully open.

"Good evening, ladies," Christian greets us as he meets my gaze, smiling warmly. He doesn't seem uncomfortable at all with Kate unexpectedly opening the door then, forcing him to meet her. I look him over appreciatively while him and Kate shake hands and exchange pleasantries. Kate is being on her best behavior, thank goodness.

Tonight, he's wearing a white button-up shirt and black jeans. I almost laugh to myself at the bizarre coincidence when I see he's actually wearing Converse sneakers as well. What? So we're wearing the same matching shoes now? What are the odds?

"Have fun then," Kate is saying, rather stiffly. She grabs me by my arm suddenly, shoving me towards the door. I throw a look back at her, a warning look. She just shrugs at me before closing the door. God, what is her problem?

"How are you?" Christian asks, and I quickly turn to glance up at him. He's staring at me, waiting for my answer.

"I'm good. I got called into work for a shift earlier so my morning was busy. You?"

"Good now." He holds his hand out to me, and I take it, interlacing our fingers while he leads the way to the car.

"You survived the wrath of Kate," I mutter, hating how nervous I sound. "She insisted on meeting you. I hope she didn't make you feel too uncomfortable?"

He steps forward, pulling the door open and holding it for me so I can slide into the backseat. "Not at all," he assures me as he sits beside me, wrenching the door shut. He meets Taylor's gaze through the rear view mirror. "We're ready now, thanks, Taylor."

"Hi again Taylor," I say, smiling at the back of his head from where he sits in the drivers seat. "Nice to meet you again."

"Likewise, Miss Steele, Ma'am," he says back, keeping his eyes forward. It feels a little strange with Taylor sitting in the car with us, even if he is driving. How can you possibly have any privacy?

Christian grabs my hand that's in my lap, holding it while Taylor starts driving us to the movies. I still feel shy as I glance outside the window, trying to calm down. I hope my make-up still looks okay. My hair especially. But then, just like that, Christian sends a reassuring squeeze to my hand with his fingers and it clears my mind wonderfully of any self-conscious thought, calming me, centering me.

I bring my eyes over to his face again, finding him watching me.

"Do you find it hard to talk sometimes with Taylor listening?" I ask, lowering my voice in case he hears.

"Not at all. Why would I?"

"It just seems... weird." I laugh nervously, looking Taylor's way again.

"Taylor keeps to himself. I don't think he can hear much from all the way up there in the driver's seat. I wouldn't worry." He darts a look down at something on the floor, like he's checking to make sure its still there. I look too, noticing a small little gift bag hidden at his feet. My heart seems to freeze as I meet his gaze again. Oh, God. He didn't, did he?

"Christian," I warn unhappily when he reaches down, grabbing the bag. He sits it on my lap. "What have you gone and done?"

"I got you something."

"You weren't supposed to." I give him a look as he shifts slightly in the seat to face me, running a hand through his hair. "You weren't supposed to get me anything, Christian. I didn't think of getting you anything." Now I feel terrible. Should I have thought of getting him a gift?

"It's only something small, Anastasia. Open it."

I give him another look as I unlace my fingers from his, holding the bag carefully. I open it up, finding a small purple satin box inside. Oh, God. He's gotten me jewelry. I know he has.

"Christian," I chide again, pulling the little box out. "I can't believe you've done this. You already brought me that car. You shouldn't have."

"Yes, I should," he murmurs, an emotion unidentifiable in his voice. "I wanted to. As I said, it's only something small. I had a hell of a time trying to pick something out that you might like."

"Well, that's really sweet." I open the box carefully with my fingers, peering at the contents in it tentatively. Oh, wow. Inside the box shines two diamond stud gold earrings. They're beautiful. I don't even want to begin to wonder how much they cost him.

"I'm not very good at this, but they're four carat gold with two diamonds in each." I realize he sounds nervous. He's not sure what I'll think or if he picked the right earrings or not. "I wasn't sure what to get you, but since you said you had your ears pierced..."

Suddenly I understand why he asked about it when leaving yesterday. Now it all suddenly makes sense. "So _that's_ why you asked about my ears being pierced yesterday?" I ask quietly, still admiring them. I love them. I don't want to insult him by daring to ask how much they cost, so I try to bite back on asking about it. They look so elegant, so classy. It's truly the sweetest thing someone has ever done for me. "I'll have to get you something too."

"Ana, I don't want anything. Yourself and color is enough. Honestly."

 _Myself and color is enough? Very doubtful._ My mind is made up, whatever he says. I can't be swayed. I am definitely going to find him something and give him something in return. It's only fair, and these earrings are so beautiful.

"I'm still going to get you something," I say determinedly. "No matter what you say."

"Please don't. Do you like them?"

"I love them. They're so pretty." I peer up at him, noticing how tense he looks, around his eyes especially as they scrutinize my face, judging my reaction. His grey eyes are shining with worry. "Christian, thank you _so much_ ," I say shakily. Words hardly even seem enough. "They're gorgeous, I love them so much. Thank you."

"Stop thanking me," he says in admonishment, his forehead creasing in irritation. "I wanted to get you something so that you'd know how much this means to me." He glances down at the bag, avoiding my gaze. He's so nervous and seemingly vulnerable right now, its adorable. "They're Cartier too, so they're a good brand. Good quality."

I don't even know much about brands nor do I care. His words and his gesture are all I can care about. Mom was right; Slowly, he's seeming more open with me. Maybe it just takes a while, as she said.

 _So that I'd know how much this means to him..._ His words repeat and ring in my ears, my heart swelling with emotion. Maybe its how overwhelmed I feel over the gift, but it fills me with newfound confidence. I lean over towards him, pressing my mouth to his. Immediately, his lips respond, and he tilts his head, kissing me back. I can't even bring myself to care that Taylor is in the front seat, probably uncomfortable by our PDA. I try to force all my emotion in the kiss, my thankfulness, my happiness.

"Alright, lovebirds, we're here," Taylor calls, interrupting us, and the car suddenly halts. I burst out laughing as I pull away from Christian quickly, my cheeks flushed at Taylor's words. How funny. Taylor had seemed so strict and severe when I met him, and now along with his words, suddenly he doesn't seem so serious at all.

Christian clears his throat, stifling down his own laughter. He blinks heavily at Taylor's head in the seat. "Thank you for that, Taylor. I'll call you when we're done."

I'm still in a funny mood when Christian gets out, holding the door open for me. I go to bring the bag and the earrings, but he takes them quickly, plopping them back down on the seat.

"They'll be safer in the car," he assures me, grabbing my hand. I laugh again when I climb out and catch Taylor's blue-eyed gaze. He winks at me. Christian shakes his head as he closes the door, running a hand through his hair. "I don't know what's come over him," he mutters, watching Taylor drive off smoothly.

"He's great," I say, giggling again. "He seemed so intimidating at first, like an army man yet his sense of humor is brilliant."

"He _does_ have a great sense of humor once you get to know him." There's a line to get into the theater so we move towards the wall, Christian's arm sneaking around my waist, holding me close.

I love it. I love that he's wanting to hold me close. I feel like he just can't get enough of touching me right now, and that's nice.

I peek up at him as we wait in line. He's looking far ahead of us, his eyes on something. I look too, and notice a group of people in line. What's he looking at? Then I notice a woman doing a double-take, glancing our way. She's blonde and fairly older. Does she know Christian?

"Oh, fuck," I think I hear Christian mutter beneath his breath. When I return my gaze to him, I notice he has his head tilted slightly, like he's trying to avoid the woman's gaze. His arm tightens around my waist.

"Do you know her?" I bring myself to ask curiously.

Christian licks his lips, meeting my eyes. "Unfortunately, yes. I think she's seen me."

I look the woman's way again, unable to help it. Yes, she has definitely seen him. She stares like she knows its him, like she's surprised to see him out to a movie. Who is this older woman? Who is she specifically to him? Surely not another ex? How many exes does he have, for goodness sake?

"Christian?" the woman calls, her voice filled with affection. She carelessly steps out of line, losing her place, approaching us. Then she smiles a wide smile, as if she can't believe it. "Christian, it _is_ you!"

Realizing he can't hide from her, Christian straightens up, forcing a smile as she moves in front of us, looking between us. She looks so happy to see him, and I am so confused. Puckering her lips, she leans up to kiss him on the cheek while I watch one of her hands stroke down along the length of his arm. Who the hell is she? And why is she touching him? I feel uncharacteristically snappy at that moment, like I want to tear her hand away from him. I've never felt that way before, and it's frightening.

"Elena, hi," he mutters reluctantly, and as her hand reaches his wrist, he catches her hand, squeezing it. They seem so affectionate in their greeting, so close.

"Seems we both have the same idea in mind about seeing a movie," she says brightly, staring up at him with adoration.

Her eyes drift to me again, then to Christian's. As if they are having some sort of telepathic conversation, she nods swiftly, moving her hand out of his. She doesn't even bother introducing herself to me as she strides back to her place in the line, her hips swaying, stilettos clicking. It's as though I wasn't even there? Like I'm insignificant to this woman? Like I didn't exist? What the hell?

I feel Christian squeeze his hand into my side, as though he is capable of reading my thoughts right now and is attempting to comfort me. I feel like maliciously wiggling out of his arm, like I want to scream at him not to touch me until he explains. Who was she? And why wouldn't she- or not even _he_ , for that matter- introduce me to her?

"Um, she was very nice," I say, unable to hide the coating of sarcasm in my voice. "She didn't even say hello or introduce herself to me?" I glance up at Christian. He has his fingers buried in his hair, a look of embarrassment on his face as he watches the woman in line. "You didn't want to introduce me, Christian?" I think that hurts even more, the fact he didn't.

He glances at me, opening his mouth. Then he closes it. It's like he doesn't even know what to say or how to even explain himself.

"Who was she?" I try again.

Finally, he seems to find his voice. "She's just a business partner," he explains slowly, watching my face. I feel like he is trying to read me. Why?

I feel like I want to go home. It may be a severe reaction, but... I just do. I spot the woman again as she heads inside, and I stare at her platinum blonde head as she drags a man with her to the booth to purchase their tickets for whatever film they are seeing. I notice they're holding hands. He must be her husband, I realize. Probably her soul mate. The thought eases my stress and anger a little. I'm Christian's soul mate, I'm his future, and whoever she was to him, she's with her soul mate. Christian's, for lack of a better word, _all mine_ now. He's my future. _I'm_ his.

"Please, Ana," Christian breathes as he puts his mouth near my ear, his voice desperate, strained. "Don't overthink this. Let's just have a good time, please."

Is that what I'm doing? Am I really overthinking this, with wondering what she was to him? Why he never introduced me? Why she acted as though I was basically invisible?

Though it's hard, I force a smile, nodding once. There, I can act. This woman, whoever she is, I am not bothered or threatened by her at all. Whatever she had with Christian, whatever she is to him, I don't care. "Fine, Christian. Let's just go enjoy ourselves and see a movie."

But if she ends up being in the same theater as us, if she ends up watching the same movie, I feel like I will die. Fortunately for us, when Christian lets me choose what film, I choose a terrible-looking, gory scary horror film. And as Christian leads the way to the room while he carries our drinks and me our popcorn to share, I feel sickly pleased when I look around and find the woman nowhere in the room, sitting in one of the seats.

She picked a different film. Thank God.

"I haven't seen a film with color yet, but I'm interested to see what it's like," Christian says ahead of me, tearing me out of my hot, malicious thoughts. He's already past what happened out there, I realize. It obviously doesn't mean a big deal to him, whoever the Elena woman is. It's as if he's gotten over their impromptu meeting. He finds an empty row of seats and turns to look at me, his expression anxious. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Christian," I answer shortly, and I brush past him into the row, picking a random spot to sit. I just cannot get over it. I just don't know what to think right now. I snatch my drink from him, putting it in the holder. "Do you work with her right now?" I cannot help asking.

"We're still business partners, yes, Anastasia. Though we meet roughly once every four months."

"She was very happy to see you?"

I watch his face closely as I grab a handful of popcorn, shoving some into my mouth. Somehow eating helps the way I feel right now.

He shrugs, shaking his head. "Well, we very rarely see each other, Anastasia. I can't help that she was happy to see me. Trust me, the feelings weren't mutual." At his words, my feelings immediately douse. I feel terrible.

He's right. He can't help that we ran into his business partner, whoever she is to him. I'm being rather unfair.

I swallow down a husky bit of popcorn, breathing deeply. "I'm sorry," I whisper contritely. "I'm being a bit unfair. But to be honest, Christian, this is a little hard on me." A little hard is an understatement right now. "I just... seeing as I waited for you and I was loyal and I never had any previous relationships with anyone, it's hard to deal with all these women that you know coming into your life. Whatever you had with this woman, I don't know. But it's hard, okay?"

He grabs his drink, sucking through the straw, drinking a bit down as he processes my words through. Once he swallows, he sets his drink back down, leaning towards me in the seat, putting his face close to mine. His grey eyes inspect me seriously, beseechingly. "Ana, I wish you would take my word for it."

"Oh? And what word is that, Christian?"

"That its in the past," he explains. "Everything- _her_ , Leila- it's in the past. I wish we could just focus on us right now and what's right in front of us." His words are strong and heartfelt as he peers into my eyes. "Truth is, I was... _different_ before I met you. I did certain things that I'm not proud of. Certain things I wish I could take back so it could only just be me and you and you wouldn't care about it like you do, but I'm human like everyone else, and I make mistakes."

"How were you different?" I ask exasperatedly. He's so confusing. I wish he could just reveal all to me.

Christian opens his mouth, then closes it up, twisting back in his seat. Like clockwork, the lights go down. The movies beginning. Much to my annoyance, I don't get an answer. All I get is Christian reaching over with his hand as he smooths back my hair tenderly with his palm as the trailers begin.

 _Hope you liked this one? I tried to make it a bit longer. Hope it is getting a bit more interesting and that it isn't too boring. Thank you so much, I would love to know your thoughts! Thank you. Christian is a bit aggravating right now but Ana will give him a taste of his own medicine and make him see that he has to either tell her and explain things regardless of his fear of potentially losing her, etc. Bare with me if you can!_


	12. Chapter 12

_**Shades of Black and White**_

My upset over what happened with the mysterious woman from Christian's past seems to simmer down a little once the trailers truly begin and, later, the movie. It's astounding, seeing all that multiple color on the big screen. You get so used to seeing everything in mundane blacks, whites, and grays, that to see it now before you largely in color, it's breathtaking.

Christian leans his arm against the armrest, clenching down on the end tightly with his hand, and when I do the same, I begin to feel that energy again, that pulsating. It's rather distracting. It's like all the follicles and strands on my arm stick up, my body attuned to him, to his mere skin alone.

Maybe seeing a horror film wasn't such a bad idea after all? I have always been easily squeamish, and I take advantage- perhaps a bit too much- in wiggling in my seat, shielding my face up against Christian's shoulder whenever something gruesome happens on screen, clenching my eyes shut. I'm not sure whether I'm truly scared or whether I'm simply doing it for the sake of getting closer to him, to feel the length of his broad shoulder and his shirt collar every time I do it. He doesn't seem to mind, which is a relief.

Fourth or fifth time I go to do it, honestly, I've lost count, Christian surprises me by reaching down between us, placing his hand on my knee.

"Sorry," I mutter insincerely. "It just helps with the movie, snuggling close."

"It's fine, Ana." He gives my kneecap a squeeze with his fingers, perhaps reassuringly, comfortingly. "You're just making it a little hard." Making it hard?

Yet when I pluck up the courage to peer over at him through the darkness of the movie theater, I discover his eyes are on me, watching me. His eyes reflect and gleam off the movie screen, something there in his eyes. I feel my face flood with annoying color as I peer down at my lap, pressing my lips together to stop from smiling. I reach down, placing my hand over his that's on my knee, that current and static electricity growing more intense. He turns his hand around, palm forward, and I slip my fingers through the gaps of his, holding his hand, interlinking our fingers.

Really, how do other soul mates put up with this? That constant feeling of feeling attuned to your soul mated other half whenever you're near, whenever you so much as touch?

Using my other hand, I grab the popcorn, showing it to him as I lean closer towards his chair. "Want some?" I ask over the loud noise as another victim gets stabbed brutally.

He leans forward himself, and I feel my belly muscles knot and clench pleasantly when his mouth brushes against my ear. "No, I'm good, Anastasia," he assures me. "To be honest, I'm not particularly in the mood for popcorn." I feel myself shiver uncontrollably when he breathes hot air on my earlobe with every spoken word. "Popcorn isn't exactly what I'm hungry for right now." There's a strange edge to his voice that I pick up on.

When I tilt my head back to meet his gaze, I notice that something is still there in his eyes. I wonder what he means by that? And what he's trying to say?

"Oh. What else are you hungry for?" I tease.

I think I catch him smile in the dark as he rubs around his chin with his other hand. "Can't say, Miss Steele," he mutters playfully, secretively.

"Have you seen movies here much?" I ask him, even although we shouldn't probably be talking.

"No, I haven't, Anastasia. There didn't seem much point to it when you couldn't see colors properly. This is my first time here."

His first time here? "What?" I laugh in shock. "You haven't even been to see a movie before?" Kate and I have plenty of times, even though it's difficult without color at times, to fully grasp the context of the film. I definitely like the sight of it now more.

"I'm glad that amuses you so much, Ana. I haven't even done this before, _all_ of it. It's... utterly new to me."

It's all new to him? It's so surprising, but I get the feeling he isn't just talking about going to the movies. Is this new to him as well? Doing something like this with a woman, sort of like we're... having a date together? Didn't he take his ex on dates much? Is that what he means?

I hesitate, then decide there is no real harm in asking anyway. I'm merely curious, and I've never had any previous relationship myself, so what's wrong with asking? I lean over, speaking near his ear, "So you and your ex Leila never did this? You didn't go to see films?"

Christian is quiet for a moment as he leans back to meet my gaze. I can't tell whether he's annoyed or not for me asking and bringing her up again, but I'm simply curious. "Ana, I wish you wouldn't constantly bring this up. There's just _us_ now and frankly, it's all that matters to me."

"I know, and I'm sorry if I'm sounding like a broken record, Christian, but I just... I'm curious. Obviously, I have no prior experience with relationships, nothing else to base this on. I'm just curious what your previous relationship was like before you met me?"

He meets my gaze again, his eyes glimmering in the reflection of the screen. Then he moves in, finding my ear, his chin rubbing against my jaw, "If you must know that badly, Ana, no, we... we never did anything like this at all. Our relationship was extremely..." He pauses, as though searching for the right words. "Premeditated and organised. We never did anything like this, our relationship together was strictly...professional, I suppose you could say. Never lighthearted. No movies, no flowers, nothing."

"Never?" I repeat in shock.

" _Never_ ," he hisses in my ear adamantly. "That's why I wish you could believe me about it all being in the past. What I'm doing with you, right now, it's something... I've never done before."

It's a lot to take in. My eyebrows dart up at his words, incredulous. I just don't understand what type of relationship he had with Leila then, though I'm relieved he's told me and answered my question.

"This is what I meant earlier when you asked me, Anastasia, about me being different before I met you," he continues, his words strong, heartfelt over the speakers in the theater. "I never did this type of stuff, with anyone. Never had someone sleep over in my house, in my bed beside me, like you did a few nights ago. Never did the whole... gifts with earrings thing, nor try dates like this. _All_ of that."

My eyes widen. "Then how..." I hesitate again, biting my lip. I just don't understand.

"I need you to know that I'm committed to this, Ana." His words, how heartfelt he is, it's takes my breath away. It's like he's pledging something to me. "That...whatever I did in the past, whoever I was back then, that's not who I am anymore. I don't know that person anymore now that I've met you. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

No, I don't think I understand at all, not really. But it's like all the breath has left my lungs. I'm speechless.

About an hour later, the film finishes and the end credits begin as the lights turn on again. I'm not sure what I thought of the film. To be honest, I was sort of... distracted by Christian, how he'd squeeze my hand every now and then, and his mere presence beside me in the chair. I couldn't really focus on anything else but him and it got sort of tedious after a while, all the dead bodies and gruesome ways the characters were murdered.

"What did you think of the film?" I ask Christian, just for the sake of speaking, as we both stand, getting ready to leave like everyone else.

There had only ended up being four other people seeing this movie with us, and they are all gathering their things to leave as well.

"Honestly, it was a little too... bloody and illogical for me," he admits, and for some reason I feel disappointed when he releases my hand, reaching down to grab our half-empty popcorn container and our drinks. My fingers tingle at the loss of contact, and I clasp my hands together, rubbing along my knuckles to ease it. "It isn't really my sort of thing."

"Same, actually," I admit. "I can't say I was truly invested in it. It was a bit too bloody for me, too." He gets out of the row, standing back to let me through so I'm walking ahead of him.

We exit and Christian throws our rubbish in the bin. I fall back, waiting for him, admiring him like I seem to be doing a lot ever since I first met him. White is definitely a good color on him, I think, eyeing the way his collar is loosened on his shirt around his neck, the way his jeans seem to fit him snugly.

As he strides forward to reach me, he grabs my hand again, interlacing his fingers through mine, and I have to turn away, deliberately looking elsewhere for fear he'll notice me checking him out. Just like that, I feel tons better now that he's holding my hand again. I just really like him holding my hand, it feels really good, the way his hand feels, his fingers. I just like it so, so much.

"Do you want to get something to eat?" he asks me, tearing me out of my thoughts. He pauses from walking, glancing at my face questioningly. "Have some dinner?"

"No, I'm actually full," I confess, patting my stomach self-consciously. "I had a lot of popcorn." Christian didn't even eat any popcorn, whereas I basically inhaled it in. "Do you want to get something though?" I murmur. "You hardly ate anything, whereas I ate most of the popcorn?" I'm surprised I could have even ate in front of him, munching on popcorn. I didn't feel nervous at all to do it. The fact that we were in the dark room with a large screen probably had something to do with that.

He shakes his head at me. "I'm fine. Really." Even although I have my jacket, it's still rather chilly at this time of the night. "Your shivering," Christian mutters, noticing. "Come here."

Letting go of my hand, he reaches up, sliding his arm around my shoulders, making me have to sort of lean against him with my body into his side as we walk. I smile down at the ground, knowing fair well my cheeks are probably super red. It feels so nice, so good; His arm around me, how he's so considerate, trying to warm me. I really like it.

"Better?" he murmurs in my ear, and I feel his hand rub my shoulder through my jacket.

"Mm, heaps," I admit breathlessly. "I like the feeling of you holding me."

"The feelings mutual, believe me."

"I enjoy spending time with you too, even if it is just seeing some ridiculous movie," I admit softly.

"Likewise," he says even though I know he didn't go much on the film.

I peer down at the ground again nervously, noticing our shoes as we walk. I almost burst out laughing as I notice again how matched we are, with our shoes. Both of us are wearing Converse sneakers, though his shoes are a bigger size, of course.

"What?" he asks quietly, suspiciously.

"It's just... we're wearing the same type of shoes," I laugh, and when I muster courage to glance over at him, he glances down too at our shoes, raising his brows.

"That, we are." He keeps rubbing his palm flat against my shoulder blade. It's really nice. "Is there anything you want to do now? Anything you want to see?"

"Um, not really."

"Shall I call Taylor now?" _Oh, Taylor in his car!_ I completely forgot. I glance behind my shoulder, looking out towards the road. "I told Taylor I'd call him when it's time to pick us up," Christian explains. "So there isn't anything else you wish to do?"

"No, nothing really. You can call him now."

I think he looks a little disappointed by that. I don't know if he wanted to do something else, but he hasn't told me. Still rubbing my arm, he reaches into his pocket, grabbing his phone. He unlocks it, hitting a button with his thumb, pressing his phone up to his ear while we stop walking. "Taylor, we're ready now," he says once Taylor picks up. I watch Christian as he glances past me onto the road. "We're just a bit down the road from where you dropped us off." A pause. "Good. We'll see you in a minute then." He hangs up, shoving his phone back into his pocket. "Taylor's on his way," he fills me in. "What are you doing tomorrow night?" he asks me, looking me over, his voice low.

"Nothing, I don't think. Why? Want to do something together again?"

He nods once and brings up his hand, running his fingertips down along my jaw, and then he bends down. I know immediately what he wants to do then and, surprisingly, I find myself wanting it just as much. We've gone a full hour without kissing. My eyes instinctively close as his mouth brushes against mine, slowly, chastely, and after a startled second, I grow more into it, kissing him back.

It feels like a lifetime passes us by as we kiss, wrapped up in each other's mouths as I lean up on the tiptoes of my sneakers, wrapping an arm around his neck, leaning against him.

The heat of the moment, being pressed up against his own body heat... it seems to warm me wonderfully from the slight icy chill in the air. I cannot get enough of this, of us kissing. He's just such a great kisser. It's difficult not to want more when he kisses me in such a way. His fingers play with the strands of my hair, and as my lips part, he catches my bottom lip between his, and he tugs a little, sucking, making an incoherent gasping noise come from me. But then all too soon, we have to end it when we hear a car horn honking.

"Damn it," he grumbles against my mouth, and I know he's just as unhappy as I am. He pulls away from me with a sigh, glancing towards the road. "Taylor's here," he mutters with frustration. "Come." He pushes me towards the car and reaches down, opening the backdoor for me.

I breathe in deeply, my face flaming, as I slide into the leather seat, pulling my seat belt on. Taylor immediately meets my gaze through the mirror.

"Ma'am," he greets again, and I think he's smiling.

I didn't think it was even possible for me to manage it, but I know I'm blushing again. I know we've been caught out kissing by him for the second time tonight. "Taylor," I breathe unsteadily.

Christian slides in beside me, slamming the door. "To Anastasia's, please, Taylor," he directs him, then he reaches for my hand again, holding it.

"Did the pair of you enjoy the film?" Taylor asks as he indicates, and he glides smoothly back out onto the road.

Christian shifts in the seat a little, and I watch his face as he glances out the window. He definitely doesn't seem to be taking Taylor's interruption too well. He breathes out deeply through his mouth while he uses his thumb to stroke around my knuckles. "Not particularly, Taylor," he mutters, reaching up, combing his fingers slowly through his hair.

"So tomorrow night then?" I begin, reminding him of our previous conversation before he started kissing me. "You mentioned about doing something tomorrow?"

Christian shifts back in the seat to look at me, his face softening. "Yes, tomorrow night would be great." Slipping his fingers around my wrist, he brings my hand up towards his face, and I feel my heartbeat quicken as he presses two open-mouthed kisses on the back of my knuckles tenderly. _What is he doing to me?_ He makes it so hard when he does stuff like that to me. I know I said how I wanted us to take this slow, but it's difficult when we kiss, when he does stuff to me like this."Do you want to sleep over?" he asks, holding his lips pressed against my hand, murmuring into my skin.

"Yes," I breathe, watching his mouth. There's really no harm in that, is there? In me sleeping over? "I suppose I can."

Satisfied, he links our fingers together again, resting our intertwined hands in his lap. Then he reaches down, glancing below the seat as if remembering something. "Don't forget to take this in with you," he reminds me, and he lifts up the gift he got me, the pretty earrings. "You'll have to wear them tomorrow." He sits the bag in my lap.

"I definitely will," I promise. "I can't wait to see what they look like in." I still can't believe he bothered to get me something, though. I am still determined to do something for him myself, though it's bound to be tricky. I have never been all that good with picking out presents for people, and what do you get for someone like him? A man that already seemingly has everything? "I'm still going to get you something, by the way," I tell him determinedly.

"Don't. It's like I told you, Ana." He sighs loudly, shaking his head. "I don't expect anything in return from you."

"Well, I didn't expect anything from you either, and yet you got me these gorgeous earrings, didn't you?" I can tell he isn't pleased with me wanting to get him something as a gift, but it's only fair. "It's only fair, Christian. You can't be the one always getting me gifts. You already got me that car, after all. It's only fair I get you something in return."

"Ana," he grumbles in protest.

"Suck it up," I whisper with a teasing laugh. "I'm going to try get you something and that's the way it's going to be."

I stare at him contemplatively while I think hard. What to get him? A tie? No, he probably has too many already. Socks and underwear? That's sort of a boring gift. I don't have much money to get him too much of a decent gift like he got me. Kate often says I'm great at cooking. What if I tried to make us dinner tomorrow night at his place? I know quite a few recipes. I could make us something that hopefully he would enjoy?

When he glances back over at me, his eyes narrow. "What are you thinking so hard about?" he asks.

I don't want to tell him because it would ruin the surprise, so I just shrug. "Nothing."

"Oh, really?" I can tell he doesn't believe me. He eyes me doubtfully. "It doesn't look like nothing, what seems to be going through your eyes right now."

"It's nothing." I press my lips together, acting playfully over-the-top secretive. "I can't tell you."

"You can't tell me?" He tries to sound hurt but I know he's trying not to laugh himself.

"I guess you'll just have to wait and learn tomorrow, won't you?"

"Ana, tell me." He gives me a look. "I don't like it when people keep secrets from me."

"Well, now you know how I feel when you aren't very forthcoming about certain things in your past. Like that woman tonight, for instance." I told myself that I was going to drop it, but I can't help it. "Like that woman who seemed overly happy to see you?"

"I told you she's just a business partner, Anastasia. She's in the past."

It's aggravating that he won't tell me more. I know that there's something else there. He's keeping something from me, I know it.

Taylor pulls up at the curb and when I glance past Christian out the window, I discover we're at my apartment already. It went so fast already.

"So tomorrow from here?" Christian asks, squeezing my hand.

"Sure, that sounds great." I'll need to go to the supermarket beforehand though. And decide on a recipe and what ingredients I'll need to get for dinner. I hesitate, biting down on my lip. It's so hard to tell him without blowing the surprise. "I may need to do something beforehand, though," I manage, deciding that's easiest to say without giving the surprise away. "I'll need to bring some things with me in a bag."

I know Christian is dying to ask me more about it, maybe even coerce me into revealing my intentions. But fortunately for me, he doesn't try to push me. He sighs loudly in resignation. "All right. That's fine. Did you have a good night?" he asks, a bit anxiously.

I remember his words, how he was asking Taylor for advice on what to do with me, his relationship advice, though I know he doesn't know I was eavesdropping. All in all, he did pretty well tonight.

"I did. Thank you again for the beautiful earrings," I murmur gratefully, and I lean in, pressing my lips into his cheek quickly. I know he wants more- he wants me to kiss him on the mouth- but I unbuckle my belt quickly, opening the door while grabbing the gift bag. "And tonight. It was good spending time with you."

He stares at me glumly, like I've taken something away from him as I move out of the car. When I peer down to look at him, I almost break out giggling. He looks so disappointed, yet so annoyed. Oddly, it's how I feel myself.

"See you tomorrow," I whisper with a sad smile. "Goodbye, Taylor."

"Goodbye, ma'am," Taylor says back, and I slam the door shut, stepping back towards the apartment steps. I can't see Christian through the window because they are tinted, but I stand by the railing, watching the car drift back out onto the road. Once they've gone from sight, I start climbing up the apartment steps, finding my keys.

It's settled then. I am cooking us dinner. Hopefully it won't turn out a disaster on me.

xxxx

An hour before Christian is due to pick me up, I head to the grocery store with a list of ingredients that I'll need. I scan the large hanging aisle description signs, both for the colorblind, as well as ease of locating items.

I've decided on a Mediterranean Chicken recipe that I've cooked a few times at home with Kate, on a bed of couscous. It's never seemed to fail me before, so hopefully Christian will like it. I find everything I need; the chicken breast, couscous, olives, raisins, honey and the sauce, and head to the nearest checkout.

It's no truly special present for him but hopefully he'll appreciate the effort I put in regardless. I have no idea how I am going to keep him out of his kitchen for long enough without him noticing though. Just my luck, he'll ruin the surprise all on his own.

Waiting in the cue, I find myself staring at the couple in front of me absently. I can tell they're soul mates by the way they are hanging off each other, acting so gushy and warm towards each other as they talk while holding hands. I smile to myself as I think last night over, how good it felt when Christian's hands were on me, his arm and how he tried warming me up against the frost in the evening air after the movie was over.

I definitely really like him, though I'm not sure if that's just a natural automatic thing that comes with being soul mated to each other. I feel attracted to him in ways like I've never felt before. I feel a weird ache in my throat, in my chest. I think it's happiness, maybe? Pure happiness and relief that's got me feeling this way?

It feels so good to finally have my soul mate in my life now, maybe even more than it feels to know I have color in my life now, too. It's exciting, thinking about the inevitable future, of how our life will be.

I just wish he wasn't so secretive, that he would trust me. I can tell that there is probably a lot that he hasn't told me right now, but my Mom did say it isn't all a magical, fairy-tale sort of thing, a soul mate union. It's like your typical regular relationship- Mom's words, because what would I know? - where things get complicated and you have to work on it, too.

I'm shaken out of my daydreaming when the person behind the counter smiles at me, ready to start scanning my items. God, I hope I don't overcook the meal somehow. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a box of chocolates, half price, and without thinking, I grab them for the attendant to scan as well. Maybe we can have the chocolates for dessert, a treat after our dinner together? Chocolates are romantic, right?

My phone goes off in my pocket, just as I'm about to pay. "Excuse me," I whisper to the attendant, grabbing my wallet as well as answering my phone, paying while multitasking. "Hello?" I breathe.

"Are you ready?" My heart hammers in my chest rapidly. It's Christian.

"Um, sure. I'm just finishing up at the store, but I'll be home in roughly ten or fifteen minutes. Are you already there in the car with Taylor?"

"No but we're on our way, though."

"Cool. Let me just get home first and then I'll see you there." The transaction goes through on my credit card fortunately and I smile thankfully at the person behind the counter while struggling to grab my bags. "Crap, I have to go. I've got a few things to carry. Can I see you when you're at the apartment?"

"Ana," he says on the line through a heavy sigh, and I almost laugh at how chastising he sounds. "What have you done?"

"Like I said last night, I can't tell you. Suck it up, you'll find out shortly. See you soon."

I hang up on him, shoving my phone into my pocket quickly. Then I grab all my bags, grinning to myself. I definitely feel a lot more comfortable around Christian now, and I think spending so much time together has helped. I feel I can be myself a bit more now. I can be a bit more silly with him and playful. I'm just still not sure whether I am totally ready for us to take this to the next level as yet- the sex level.

I certainly enjoy kissing him and feeling his hands on me. It's just the next part I'm still uncertain I'm ready for right now, no matter how high my level of attraction for him goes. I just need to feel completely ready first. It's a big deal to me.

Who knows, though? Maybe we'll get through dinner, the chocolates, and then we'll see? Maybe I'll feel differently? I can just tell he's way more experienced than I am over the whole thing, maybe intuitively. It's in the way he kisses me with confidence and ease, with skill. What if I do something awkward when he's trying to get me in the mood of sex? What if I do something silly?

Lugging my bags, I'm halfway down the street when I sense him, rather than see him. Like I'm attuned to him in startling ways, I turn, noticing a familiar car cruising slowly down the street. Surely enough, it's _his_ car, the one Taylor drives him in, the one he used to drive us to the movies last night.

The tinted windows are rolled down in the backseat and, just as I expected, there Christian is.

"Hi," I say shyly, as he smiles at me.

He opens the door immediately, rushing out to help me with my numerous grocery bags. He looks like he's about to say something, scold me over the bags even, but he stops himself from doing it, maybe because he senses it will ruin the moment somehow. I don't think I'll ever get used to feeling his presence every single time he is near. It's like my body has an automatic Christian Grey sensor, a soul mate presence detector.

"How did you know which store I'm in?" I ask, spooked.

"I felt you oddly enough. I just had a feeling, like that time at your work and I knew which aisle you were in somehow." Strange. He must have an automatic detector too.

"Don't peek inside the bags," I warn him as he drops them down carefully on the floor.

He turns back to look at me, taking the last bag from me while he leans down, pecking me chastely on the mouth.

"Consider me warned," he says, and as I get into the backseat, trying not to crush my groceries with my feet, I watch him as he sits in beside me, shutting the door.

He's wearing a red shirt today, an extremely vivid red polo shirt, with black business trousers. He looks incredibly good. His muscular forearms are on show. Then again, I bet he looks incredibly good in all colors, because they're colors.

"Your looking very... red today, Mr Grey," I comment with a smile, remembering all the times he's called me out on my red cheeks. Now I can tease him for once.

"Am I?" He plays along, and he feigns confusion. "Can't imagine why, Miss Steele."

I laugh, then remember Taylor in the drivers seat. "Hi, Taylor," I greet.

"Ma'am," he greets back. I guess he'll always call me that. _Ma'am._

"Do you need to get anything from your apartment before we go?" Christian asks.

"No, I think I'm good."

As Taylor starts driving, I feel Christian watching me, staring. When I dart a look his way, I find that he is. "What?" I ask nervously, compressing my lips to stifle my smile.

He shifts slightly, glancing down at the bags meaningfully. "What's all of this, Ana?"

I may as well tell him, I decide. He's probably already figured it out anyway. "I've decided that I'm going to make us dinner," I inform him. "Hopefully it turns out right the way it's supposed to, though."

"Ana, I wasn't expecting-"

"-But I wanted to," I cut him off definitively. "This is my gift to you, like how you got me the earrings, although... I know it won't be much."

He stares at me for a moment, and I stare back, something shining in his eyes. Then he reaches up, gently tucking strands of my hair behind both ears, eyeing me carefully. I feel my stomach muscles clench, that static electricity building there like always, when he drags the tip of his thumb up my jaw, all the way to my ear. He strokes my earlobe several times as his eyes examine my ears. His earrings that I remembered to put in.

"Your wearing them," he mutters, pleased.

"I am. I remembered."

"They look good," he says appreciatively, his thumb stroking my earlobe again.

"Then I'm pleased you think so," I murmur, and I don't even recognize the sound of my voice. It's too soft, too husky, all due to the way he is stroking my earlobe in repetitive movements, the way his gray eyes are searching mine deeply. "They're very comfortable to wear. They're not heavy or irritating at all."

I want him to kiss me, it occurs to me. I'm just sitting there, waiting, aching almost for him to kiss me. He kissed me briefly while taking my bags, yes, but... I find myself wanting to him to kiss me again, right now. But longer, more... passionately. I glance down at his mouth, at how the edges are curled slightly with a faint smile. I so need him to kiss me right now. Only... he doesn't.

I expel a deep, shaky breath as he moves away from me, sitting back against the seat, the fleshy part of my earlobe tingling from the loss of contact now. I really don't know how I'm going to get through tonight, to be honest. My reaction to him just then, the need, all the longing I felt. Yeah, it's going to be hard. Maybe something _will_ happen tonight after dinner, after all?

 _Sorry for taking a while to update this one. Hope you enjoyed? I know it's slow, but I just want to develop the connection they feel, that intensity beforehand. Hope I am not doing too bad?_


	13. Chapter 13

**_Shades of Black and White_**

Once we get inside his penthouse, carrying all the grocery bags, Christian follows me towards the kitchen, shoving all the bags on the large kitchen granite island. As he starts to put his hands inside the bags, helping me with taking everything out, I stop him, moving closer, catching him by the wrists with my hands, making him have to lean back into the bench to keep his balance as I accidentally brush against him with our clothes. I pull his hands away forcefully and he gazes down at me questioningly, that ever-present energy crackling between us.

"What?" he whispers, feigning hurt. "You don't want me helping?"

"As appreciative as I am that you want to help, I really don't, Christian. You can't, otherwise you'll somehow figure out what I'm going to be cooking for us."

"I thought I was being gentlemanly in helping assisting you with unpacking the groceries, and now, you don't want me to?"

I laugh, that irritating tingling happening again when he yanks his wrists free out of my grasp. He reaches out, trying to grab onto my hands, probably to hold them in his, but I move back quickly, stepping out of range. Last thing I need right now is for him to distract me. "You can't. You're just going to have to find something else to do while I'm in here."

"Ah. So you're kicking me out of my own kitchen then?"

I never really thought of it that way, but I sort of am, aren't I? He can't be in here, standing around, observing me cooking otherwise he'll figure everything out. "I am." I smile teasingly, gesturing towards his living room. "Now go. Please, you can't be in here. You have to wait until dinner's served and I call you in!"

He stares at me, rather despondently, while I move towards the bags, checking inside them, trying to locate the chicken.

"You certainly know how to make a man feel useless, Miss Steele, don't you?" he mutters, but he doesn't sound too annoyed. He's playing with me, I think.

"Useless?" I repeat in surprise. "Is that really how you're feeling all because I'm kicking you out of your kitchen while I cook? Useless?"

"Alright, well, useless may be a bit extreme. But I'm used to... helping somewhat. I'm used to being involved."

"Well, tough. Go!" I brandish him out of the kitchen, which he definitely doesn't look too pleased about.

I hear him sigh heavily as he walks out towards his living room area while combing his fingers through his hair. It's probably a good thing he chose to wear a vivid red polo shirt, because that means I can see him easier. There's no possible way of him hiding. I spy on him while finally unpacking the bags, laying everything out that I need while I place the box of chocolates on the bench. He'll pretend he is busy in brushing crumbs off a couch cushion or dusting off his large TV even, but I know he's faking, because he'll glance back to where I am every now and then briefly, snooping, hoping to catch me out.

"I see you, Grey," I warn him while bending down, finding his kitchen knives and his chopping boards, being silly. "I see what you're doing in there. Don't think that I'm not onto you."

"What?" He's playfully innocent as he stares at me in the kitchen. "What am I doing?"

"You're pretending to clean or dust when really your snooping?"

"You caught me," he plays along, finally admitting to it. "So I really can't do anything? Not even set the table?"

"No, you can't. Absolutely nothing, Christian."

Searching in the bottom drawer of his bench, I find his pans, then scrutinize his modern cooking contraption, his stove. It's so different than the one I have with Kate at our apartment; Then again, everything where he lives is different, I think. Everything is top of the range new, things that I haven't seen or used before. What happened to good old fashioned basic cookware? It's intimidating, but after looking at all the little knobs on his stove, I think I work it out on how to use it. I flip the right hotplate on, then start dicing the chicken, olives, and raisins up smaller.

I get into the habit of checking on Christian every minute, it feels like. He's standing around at the back of his large couch, leaning against it while he flips through a magazine. I have a feeling he isn't even truly reading, though. He's just trying to appear like he is.

"Your kitchen's amazing," I say to him loudly over the sizzling pan once the oils heated and the chicken starts cooking.

Christian shifts off the couch, pacing towards the kitchen. I watch with a warning look, but fortunately he stops a good distance away, knowing I won't let him come in. "Thanks, but I've never really used it before to be honest."

He's never used it before? "How can you not have used your own kitchen before?" I ask with a stunned laugh, throwing in the other diced ingredients. "Even you need to cook and eat, don't you?"

"That's where Gail comes in." He lifts his gaze from the page he's looking at, staring at me. "Gail uses the kitchen mainly, not me."

"Gail?" I ask, arching my brows in question. Who is Gail? I don't think he's ever mentioned her before.

"Gail's my housekeeper," he explains. "She cooks. She cleans. I don't know how to cook."

I find it so hard to believe, him saying he doesn't know how to cook. Surely he's just being self-deprecating and he does know how to, doesn't he? Especially at his age and being as smart and successful as he has to be? "I'm sure you know how to cook, don't you?"

"If by cooking, you mean using the microwave to heat up leftovers and frozen dinners that Gail has already prepared for me in advance, then yes, I know how to cook, Anastasia."

I laugh how wry his voice is, how sarcastic yet brutally honest. I cannot believe it.

"Wow," I mutter in teasing shock as I fill up a pot full of water, then add in the couscous, stirring it to bring to a boil. "I'm definitely learning a lot about you these past few days then, aren't I? I cannot believe you don't even know how to cook, except for reheating Gail's leftovers?"

"Well, we all have fatal flaws. One of mine so happens to be that I don't do well in kitchens."

"Well, that's definitely handy to know," I mutter, pushing around the chicken, olives and raisins in the pot that are simmering away. "Anything else I should know while we're on the subject?"

Christian thinks deeply for a moment, flickering through the magazine pages. "I'm incredibly good at picking wine, although you already figured that one out."

I laugh. I definitely did figure that one out, considering every dinner date when we've been out, how I've let him choose our wine. "You're right, I definitely know that one," I agree. "So far, you haven't disappointed once yet with your wine selections."

This is nice, and I can feel myself grinning widely. It's good to have casual, easy conversation. It makes me feel more comfortable and at ease.

"Speaking of wine, do you want a glass?" he asks me.

"Sure, that sounds nice. Wine would go well with the dinner."

He heads into the kitchen and I watch his every move, making sure he doesn't peek at what I'm doing as he finds a bottle. He walks around the island, searching for a corkscrew, but he doesn't sneak a look at what I'm making, at least.

"Something smells good," he murmurs appreciatively. "I can tell I'll like what you're making already."

"Well, I hope so. So far, everything seems to be going according to plan." Already, I feel anxious about how my cooking is going to turn out. Usually, this recipe never fails me, but it would be terrible if it did tonight on the one chance I am really relying on my cooking to impress someone. But I'm being extra cautious, making sure I used enough oil and that nothing sticks or burns, so hopefully it turns out alright.

I check behind my shoulder on Christian again while stirring the couscous as the liquid reduces. He's not looking my way, so he's honoring his word while pouring us a glass of red wine each.

"Is that what you usually do?" I ask curiously, unable to miss the chance to learn more.

He looks my way. "What's that, Ana?"

"You know, after work, do you unwind like this? You have a glass of wine while reheating some of Gail's cooking?"

"Most nights like this, yes. It would depend on my mood. Or sometimes I'd..." He hesitates, suddenly uncomfortable. There's a sudden shift there as he falls silent, taking a sip of his wine experimentally. Hmm, I wonder what that's about, but I decide not to push him.

I am trying to be good tonight, after everything he's said. All those times I've tried pushing him for answers about his past or the women in it- he hasn't responded too well. I guess I've learned my lesson, for tonight, at the very least. Tonight I am determined to not sour the mood by asking things that make him uncomfortable.

He hands me my glass of wine, meeting my gaze as we chink our glasses together gently.

"To us," he murmurs, holding my gaze.

"To us," I repeat, feeling my cheeks glow with heat. He chuckles as he goes to drink another sip of his wine while I do the same. "What's so funny?" I ask self-consciously.

"Red," he mutters after swallowing, grinning. "Your cheeks are red yet again, Miss Steele." He glances down at his shirt. "They almost match the color of my shirt." I really hate that I blush so easily yet, at the same time, I enjoy it, whenever he calls me out on it, his playful teasing.

I swallow my mouthful of wine, savoring the taste. He definitely does know his wine. "You picked right again," I praise, jerking my chin to the wine in my glass. "It's very nice and fruity."

"It's like I said, I'm handy with wine." I catch him trying to peer behind my shoulder at the ingredients in the pan.

"That's not fair," I protest, trying to sound convincingly angry, though I'm not. "You'll ruin the surprise on me, and I wanted to surprise you in return for getting me those gorgeous earrings. It isn't fair if you spoil it on me, Christian."

"I can't even see what your cooking from here," he assures me. "I promise you. I can only smell it. It smells mouthwatering."

"Good," I murmur, satisfied. "Thank you for the wine. Now please, go stand out in the living room again until I'm done dishing up and I call you in."

"How long is this going to take?"

Taking one more sip of the wine, I place my glass on the bench, getting back into it. The water has reduced in the couscous and it looks almost ready; I just need to fluff it with a fork. Also, I just need to stir in the sauce. It shouldn't be too long now. "Probably another ten minutes, at the most. It's almost done."

Just like I promised, barely ten minutes later, everything is done. I switch off the stove, dishing up our couscous, then our Mediterranean Chicken onto plates. I hum happily to myself, proud. Everything has gone surprisingly well. The food smells good, and it's been cooked perfectly. Well, it looks like it is, anyway. Tasting it may be another issue altogether.

"Okay," I call out, turning to Christian. "Dinner is served. You may finally enter your kitchen!"

I can tell he's pleased that I've finally allowed him access back into the room. He shoves the magazine on his couch, strolling into the kitchen while taking a sip of the wine. I watch his face carefully, excitedly, as he eyes both of our plates.

He sets his glass on the bench, leaning down slightly, inhaling the fragrant smell of the simmering hot chicken and sauce in. It smells delicious to me, but I don't know what his preferences are, of course. It's hard to know how he feels on what I've cooked, our meal for this evening.

"Do you like it?" I ask apprehensively, playing with my fingers in front of me.

My heart lifts, my nerves evaporating, when he smiles, finally meeting my gaze. There's appreciation in Christian's gray eyes as he studies me intently.

"Looks delicious," he says, his voice soft. "You're very good at cooking."

I laugh, shrugging it off while handing him a knife and fork. "We'll see if you still think that when you taste it."

"I'm sure I will still think that. It looks incredible. Thank you." Surprising me, he bends down, pecking me on the lips. Once, twice. Then he leans back, glancing at the plates again. I feel sort of stunned, my mouth left with little aftershocks from his kiss. I wasn't expecting him to kiss me. I could definitely get used to it though, and it was a very welcome surprise from him. "Do you want to sit at the table or in the living room?"

"Table's good."

"This is definitely a first for me," he admits breathlessly when I hand him a plate, grabbing mine. We wander to the large dining room table, and he sets his plate and cutlery down, quickly stepping towards me to pull my chair back for me. Very gentlemanly.

"A first for you?" I repeat in surprise, watching him as he rushes back into the kitchen for some reason. He reappears with our glasses of red wine. I'd completely forgotten about my glass for a moment there.

"Someone cooking me dinner aside from Gail," Christian explains as he drags his chair closer so that he's sitting right next to me at the table.

He sits, tucking his long legs beneath mine, tapping the tip of his shoe into mine. I smile, nudging him back while starting to eat, slicing a bit of chicken with my fork and knife.

"It's the first time anyone's ever bothered to before, so thank you. It's definitely a nice surprise."

I cannot believe what he's saying. "No one's cooked for you before? Really?"

"Really," he says with a nod. "My mother did when I was a child, of course. But ever since I moved out, ever since I started living here, I've never really... had someone cook me a home meal before. It's honestly a first for me, Anastasia, one that I like."

It's sort of sad, but understandable, I suppose. And it's a mood-booster, knowing I am the first woman who has cooked for him, other than his mother as a child, and his personal cook Gail. But what about his ex? Didn't she ever cook him meals when he came home from work? Or was their relationship not... long enough?

I watch him as he scoops up some couscous onto his fork, shoveling it into his mouth. Then he pops a piece of chicken into his mouth, and he makes a deep noise at the back of his throat, one filled with delight. I never thought I'd like even the look of somebody eating, but with Christian, I find I do. Eating, smiling, drinking. He looks wonderful, no matter what he does.

"This is great, Anastasia," he says after he swallows. I feel myself beam with pride. "How did you learn to cook like this?"

I swallow down my own mouthful, relieved I didn't screw up our dinner. It tastes the way it usually does when I cook it for Kate, this recipe. The chicken is tender and not overcooked, thank goodness.

"I don't remember how I learned, exactly. I guess my roommate Kate has never been a very good cook, so I sort of had to learn to for the both of us." I shrug, reaching out for my glass of wine.

He makes another appreciative noise as he eats another forkful of food. I am so pleased that he likes it that much. It's such a relief. "So you taught yourself how to cook? Or did... someone teach you? Your mother?"

"No, my mother never taught me, really. I suppose I just taught myself. There's just always been something about cooking that I happen to find relaxing. I've always liked doing it for some reason." I pause, sipping a mouthful of the delicious wine. "So you really do like it?" I ask tentatively.

"I do," he says, his eyes shining at me with sincerity. "This was certainly an amazing surprise. Thank you."

"I just wanted to do something nice in return, seeing as you got me the earrings." I reach up, touching the diamond studs in my ears absently. "Of course, I know cooking a meal isn't as... expensive as the earrings, but I hope you like it enough."

"I do. As I said, I wasn't expecting you to have to do this. I wasn't expecting anything in return for getting you the earrings."

"I know that, Christian, but I was really happy to do this. I wanted to."

"Well, you're amazing at cooking." I flush, shrugging down at my plate of food again dismissively. "And red yet again," he mutters under his breath.

I almost choke on my mouthful of couscous, because he makes me laugh. I swallow it down quickly. "Well, I'm just sort of unused to compliments," I admit, forking in another piece of chicken, glancing up at him as he chew.

He meets my gaze as he chews as well, and just like that, I feel that irritating heat gushing up my chest, my face at his expression, at his gaze. I feel it again, just under his look alone. That electricity, that static. It's so intense, in a crazy, startling way. How do people ever get used to it?

"How do you feel it's going so far?" I can't help asking, curious but nervous to know.

"How do I feel it's going so far?" he repeats, in confusion, I think. He reaches out after he swallows his food, grabbing his glass. He holds my gaze as he takes in three sips of the wine, then as he places his glass back down, I find my eyes glued to his mouth as he licks his lips. "You mean in regards to tonight?" he asks uncertainly. "Right now? I find it's going great so far, tonight, personally myself. You?"

"No, I mean... so far, _in general_ , not so much tonight? _Us_? Our... progress?" I think I read somewhere that communication is important for every building relationship, though I barely know anything about relationships, particularly not when it comes to experience in being in one. I just want to know what he thinks so far. "Like, are you... happy with how things are going so far? Is it somehow up to your standards, I guess?" I'm really not sure how to put the question, but I think he gets what I'm trying to say.

Christian is silent for a moment, forking through his couscous, thinking it over seriously. "As I told you earlier when you asked when you slept over that night, I had no previous expectations on this whatsoever. As I said, I didn't... think it was capable that I would ever have a soul mate out there for me somehow." He reaches for his glass again, swallowing down another sip of wine. "But I can honestly say that I enjoy spending time with you, Anastasia. I enjoy spending time with you, like this or... like that night at the movies, even. I like... being around you."

It comes as a huge relief, him telling me that, although I'm not so sure why it doesn't. I had a feeling he enjoyed spending time with me as much as I do with him, though it's nice to be reassured. "I'm the same," I confess quietly. "I enjoy spending time with you too, getting to know you, Christian."

"And also, I believe it's no secret how attracted I am to you," he adds, so effortlessly, so unabashedly and straightforwardly. I don't know how he does it; How he can possibly look me straight in the eye without so much as breaking out in a red rash of nerves over it. It's so... sexy of him. "Spending these past few days with you, getting to know you more... it's only just served to make me want you even more. It's just... increased the way I feel about you, physically."

I'm speechless at his words, at how with effortless ease he is in saying such things to me. I wish I could do the same thing without feeling flustered or shy to admit to it myself, but I know it's impossible. His words, they just mirror how I feel exactly. We're on the same page at least.

"And that's honestly how I feel with you, too," I confess, but I can't maintain his gaze. I have to break eye contact, focusing on my food, my bed of couscous and chicken pieces. "The more time we spend together, the more... attracted I feel to you." I laugh nervously. "Which is rather scary and daunting for me, honestly, because... I've never felt that way before about anyone." Mustering up my courage, I peek up at him, biting down on my lip. "But I do. I feel the same way too, Christian."

He doesn't even avert my gaze as he brings up a hand, rubbing around his bottom lip with his fingers. I wish I could be as confident, as straightforward and not as shy. But I suppose that's where we're different, and it all comes down to experience. I'll grow out of it eventually hopefully no doubt.

I think back to my recent behavior these past few days together. How I've been plucking and picking at him for explanations, for personal information into his past relationship. I know without a doubt that he is hiding something from me- something that he evidently isn't comfortable or proud to speak about- whatever that may be. But he doesn't want to speak about it. I clearly aggravate him when I try to push him, only making things worse.

"I understand that there's a few things that you don't wish to speak to me about," I begin, feeling the urgent need to say it, to make it clear. "Like your past relationship, for instance. There are certain things that you don't feel ready to elaborate on, and I know that it's frustrating for you when I try to prod you into it."

"It _is_ somewhat. I just wish you-"

"-And I know," I speak over him hastily, meaningfully. "I understand that you aren't ready to be completely forthcoming about certain things in your past right now and every time we've been together, I've sort of been pushy. I'll try not to be that way anymore, as much as it...is difficult for me to." I swallow against a lump, my mouth feeling dry for some reason. "I know you'll eventually tell me when you're ready to. It's just that I... I want to know you. I... I want you to give me every part of you, if that makes sense? Because I... I feel like I'm giving you every part of me, I'm... bearing my soul to you, in a sense, with hiding nothing, keeping no secrets. There's nothing about me that I feel I should keep from you, and I haven't so far."

"Anastasia, you _are_ getting to know me," Christian says, and he reaches across the table. My breath hitches in my throat when he grabs my hand, squeezing down with his fingertips, sparking me up with those tingles, that pulsating sensation. "I _am_ giving you every part of me."

"Okay," I whisper, relieved.

"And I was thinking about it this morning. How would you like to move in with me?"

"Move in with you?" I cannot hide the shock in my voice, the fear over the unexpectedness of it all.

It's like he must hear the panic, he must sense it, because he squeezes my hand again. "Not full-time, if you feel its moving too quickly, Anastasia. Just, say, for example, Friday through to Sunday firstly if you are most comfortable with that? Then, once you feel ready and relaxed enough, we could consider making it full-time."

Wow. He's asking me to move in with him. It certainly was not how I was expecting this conversation to go. It's getting so serious, so quickly. I've never had someone ask me to move in with them before- obviously. Aside from Kate, of course, but this is completely different. I'm not sure how to feel.

"You're asking me to move in?" I ask, a shaky laugh escaping me. "But it's barely been a week since we first met each other and gave each other the gift of color? It hasn't even been a full seven days yet?"

"I know, but... it seems like the next rational course of action, wouldn't you think?"

"Course of action?" I raise my eyebrows, amused by his choice of words. "You make it sound like a... a game plan or something?" I cannot believe what he's asking of me. I really didn't expect this. It's a shock. "You know, I read somewhere that... the best way to know somebody is by moving in with them and getting a feel for their day-to-day routine, their... personality? Living with someone, you find out more quickly all of their annoying habits and quirks?"

"Yes, I've heard of that also."

"What if we get... sick of each other?" I ask, shaking my head, still incredulous. "What if, by me staying over here, you get... sick of me and we get on each other's nerves?"

"Frankly, I can't see that happening, Anastasia." His confidence, it's enviable. He sounds so sure, so certain. "I can't see myself getting sick of you. In fact, to be honest, whenever we have to part, whenever... you say goodbye or goodnight, it irritates the hell out of me."

I think back to his reaction after the movies, how irritated and grumpy he appeared with me leaving. Yes, he definitely hadn't liked me leaving and us being separated after our date last night.

"Think of it as a trial," Christian continues, maybe reading my hesitance. Wrapping his fingers around my wrist, he pulls my arm towards him, and my heart stutters in my chest, aching, when he brings my knuckles up to his mouth. He kisses me a few times, like he did last night, and I love it. I love the feeling of his mouth on me, how good it feels, even him kissing my hand. "Just from Friday through to Sunday for a while." He lifts his chin, meeting my gaze, beseechingly, pleadingly. "It doesn't mean it's permanent, Anastasia."

"I just... I'm not sure how I'll feel moving out of the apartment with Kate," I mutter anxiously. "I do love the idea of it, and it would be great, the chance to spend more time with you, Christian. I'm just-"

"-Ana, it's fine. If you decide you've had enough after even one weekend together, then we won't move in together. Think of it just as a... tester. A trial, with no pressure."

I really hope I haven't hurt his feelings. I'm just not so sure yet. "Is it okay if I think it through for a little while?" I ask uncertainly.

"Of course. Take however you need. There's no rush. No pressure."

Now that we've talked about this, I feel so anxious that my appetite has vanished. But as Christian smiles at me, a tight-lipped, genuine smile that makes my heart pound, my nerves leave. My appetite returns as I watch Christian begin eating again, and we fall into a sort of peaceful silence, finishing up our plates of food.

He doesn't seem too offended by my hesitance to move in with him, at least. If anything, he is surprisingly understanding. It's like with the whole sex thing, when I wasn't ready for that either. He was so amazingly understanding. He hasn't pressured me at all, and it means a lot to me that he hasn't.

"Have you noticed that food is more appetizing now that you can see in color?" I ask curiously as we start to eat again.

Christian glances at me thoughtfully with a shrug. "I haven't particularly thought about that, to be honest."

"Well, since you don't cook, you probably haven't noticed or paid much attention to it like I have," I retort playfully, teasing him.

He chuckles at my words; a sound that gets my heart racing.

"But even the texture of the food, the... taste of it," I continue musingly, "I just find myself appreciating it a lot more now. I guess when you grow up spending so long seeing things a particular way, that you get used to it. You don't truly realize until color happens."

"I know. I'm actually quite the same way myself, Anastasia. I... appreciate food a lot more now also."

Once we've polished off our dinner, we head into the kitchen, and I prepare to do the washing up. Christian stops me just as I'm searching for the plug.

"Come on," he says gently, grabbing me by the waist, pulling me away. The breathe seems to leave my lungs as he holds me flush against him, his chest brushing up against my back. He slides his hands up the curve of my spine before resting them on my shoulders. His fingers flex over my shoulder blades, massaging. It feels so good. My spine arches against his chest instinctively, a gasp escaping through my lips. "You don't need to bother with that, Anastasia."

"But I made a mess with all your clean pots and pans?"

"Gail will do it. If not, I have a dishwasher." His voice is different from behind me; Breathlessly husky. "I can easily stack it later."

My mind suddenly drifts off to the chocolates sitting on the bench, still untouched in their box. "Um, I also got us some-" The words are left unfinished hanging from my tongue when, suddenly, Christian releases his hold on my shoulders, reaching down.

He grabs me strongly by the waist with both hands and, just like that, he's turning me around, his mouth claiming mine. I lift up with my arms, looping them around his neck as he starts walking forward slowly, leading me seeing as I'm blind, I can't see, not with us kissing the way we are.

I barely have time to think or get a coherent sentence out when he starts guiding me backwards, our mouths moving in a passionate, fast rhythm. He hasn't kissed me like this at all, not really. It's filled with sheer need, with passion, this kiss. We're all lips and tongues lashing together, our breathes equally as shallow as each others.

My back hits flat against something, something cold and hard, and I don't realize he's basically pushed me up against his fridge until I feel it begin to vibrate and hum gently against my back a second later.

A deep throaty groan comes from him as he begins to move with his hands. He trails his fingers down my arms, making a trail of goosebumps and tingles in his path. Even his hands, they are needy, desperate to feel me, to touch me everywhere, while mine are useless, fingers clasped behind his neck as our bodies are flat together, the heat of him soaking through his shirt to mine.

His hands glide down my waist over my shirt, then past the bottom of my shirt to each of my thighs, the heat of his palms warming my skin through my jeans. God, it feels so good.

I hear what must be wine bottles or jars give out a loud rattle in his fridge due to our combined weight, the buzzing of the fridge, the humming. That energy, that atmosphere, it's so intense, all because of what we're doing.

"Christian," I gasp against his mouth weakly, and he makes a deep urgent noise again as he moves his mouth, trailing a path up along my cheek, around my jaw.

Somewhere from far, far away, I notice the light-bulb in his kitchen above us on the ceiling flickering wildly, dim to bright, dim to bright, like there's a strange electrical fault developing or something.

I feel like I'm on fire in all the places he is kissing me. Unclasping my fingers, I reach down, grabbing two fistfuls of his red polo shirt, clinging onto the fabric tightly. I'm gasping, retching for air as he bends slightly, kissing along my throat, below my chin. No matter how hard I pant, no matter how hard I'm breathing, it's as if oxygen isn't getting in adequately enough.

"Christian," I breathe again, barely recognizing my voice.

It gets even more intense and aggravating; that light-bulb. I find myself having to clench my eyes shut at the flickering, at the sizzling noises it makes. It's starting to give me a headache, that blinking kitchen light ahead of us. I'm not even sure if Christian has noticed it himself or not, or whether he's too preoccupied with kissing me.

He moves one hand, grazing up past my inner thigh, until he pushes his palm through the fabric of my jeans, right there. It's the perfect amount of friction that causes me to throw my head back against the fridge, my eyes popping open again.

A sharp sizzling noise comes from above me, from the light bulb, but I can hardly bring myself to care. He begins stroking me, pushing harder, rougher, until I can truly feel it enough without him having to rub me through my jeans, through my underwear. A circular, stroking motion in that same repetitive place.

Oh, Jesus. Oh, wow. God. I never knew it could be like this. This aching down there, this throbbing, this warmth, this pure need and longing. It's like hot, delicious blood has gushed, rushing and flowing right down there, to that place, all because of what he is doing to me.

I know I mentioned about taking it slow, but right now, with what he's doing, I don't think it's possible.

He's so good at this, and it's like he knows exactly what he's doing. He's like an expert, a confident sexual beast, knowing all the right ways to make me feel good, to make me want it.

"Ana," he grunts near my ear, blowing hot breaths against me. It's like a plea to God, how it sounds, coming from his mouth. A prayer. "Feel it," he whispers throatily, and he starts planting hot, open-mouthed kisses around my throat again my chin and jawline. "Feel how good it feels when I touch you there?"

There's no shame in him at all, no anything. As if this is natural as breathing to him.

"Christian," I repeat uneasily when my eyes land on that worrisome light bulb again.

It keeps making terrible sizzling noises, terrible flickering motions as though it's malfunctioning, as though something is seriously wrong with the wiring. It didn't start until after he began kissing me, after he began touching me, rubbing me sensually.

"Christian, there's-" A moan cuts off my words.

It builds up, more and more, this glorious feeling. And when I finally hit that peak, when it finally happens, it washes over me in an intense brutal wave. I cry out, tilting my head back as a groan of euphoria leaves me.

At the same time, it happens. Instinctively, I reach down, clasping onto his muscular forearms as he covers me, protecting me, holding my face into his neck.

A bewildering shattering, glass smashing noise sounds off from above us, a popping noise that swallows our heavy breathing. Darkness surrounds us, swathing over us in his kitchen like a blackout as glass liters on the floor around us at the same time that I orgasm for the first time in my entire life, all due to Christian stroking me through my jeans.

The light-bulb exploded, as though it couldn't stand the heat, the radiating energy between us.

"Jesus," Christian mutters, his voice shaking with concern, with arousal. "Are you alright?"

"I... I think so. Why did that just happen? How come the light just smashed and blew out?"

"I'm not sure, Ana. Your guess is as good as mine." "

"You think it was because of us?" I whisper, though it sounds silly. But it's like that time when the music track on his Ipod kept skipping, all because we were kissing. What if that's why? Because of us, because of the intensity of it all?

"As I said, I'm not sure. But wait here," he mutters seriously, moving back. "Be careful of the glass. I'll go find a candle or something so that we can see." Still recovering from both the shock and the sudden pitch-black blindness, Christian steps back, glass crunching beneath his shoes.

As he leaves me against the fridge to go get something to give us light, my heart still racing due to what just happened, my body still only just floating down from that ride of pleasure, I bring up a hand, wiping around my too-hot cheeks, between my legs still moist and warm, tingling.

I wonder if the light bulb did smash in because of us? Did we cause it just then by Christian doing what he did to me?

 _Thank you so much for your kind comments, they are truly the reason I feel encouraged and more motivated to write, cliche as that may be, but its true. Thank you for being so kind and I value your sharing of thoughts on how I'm writing them, trying to keep them true to canon which is frustrating at times lol._

 _Hope you enjoyed this one :D Hope the pace is believable and not too slow for some, Christian is trying to be more "hearts and flowers" but while struggling to treat Ana as not a sub/the whole routine, while Ana is fairly cautious and nervous about things going too fast/jumping in with both feet. They're also more than the regular soul mate couple (i.e; affecting electricity when their together lol), which will be explored more of. Hope it isn't silly. It will get more exciting and interesting hopefully, sorry if its way too slow. Let me know._


	14. Chapter 14

Thank you. Hope you like this one. I'm rather nervous lol.

 ** _Shades of Black and White_**

I lean against the kitchen bench quietly, panting laboriously with a still thudding chest, waiting for Christian to return to me, stunned over what just happened. I cannot believe what just happened then. Not so much what Christian did to me while keeping me pressed flat against his refrigerator, of course, but... with the light smashing above us, with the electricity cutting off in his penthouse.

A sneaking suspicion tells me that it _was_ due to us, what just happened. It seems impossible and ridiculous, because... how could that realistically happen and be the case? But it feels, to me anyway, to be the only logical explanation we have right now.

I reach up blindly, tucking my hair behind my ear, thinking the past previous moments between us through. I recall our conversation over dinner, how he asked me to move in from Friday through to Sunday. Could I do that? Could I actually spend an entire weekend with Christian here? Could I... get used to us finally living the way we are supposed to now, together, as a soul mated couple?

Immediately, I feel silly over my reluctance, my hesitance to accept his offer to stay on the weekends. Why did I do that? Why did I turn him down or act hesitant? Haven't I always been waiting eagerly for this moment ever since I was little, just like no doubt everybody else does?

Meeting your soul mate, giving colors, then...all the rest of it unfolding excitingly before you. Moving in together, becoming a couple, being intimate. Eventually getting married, having children- all of that.

I know Kate's frustrated and envious that I've finally met my soul mated other half, that I am no longer colorblind. If Kate were in my position, if she was in my shoes and her soul mated other half was asking her to sleepover Fridays through to Sundays, I know she would jump enthusiastically at the chance. So why aren't I as well? Why do I have to be so... guarded? So... hesitant to take a chance?

Of course I want to move in with him, even if it is just a brief trial period, like he said, Fridays through to Sundays. Why hadn't I immediately said yes?

Tearing through my thoughts, I jump, crunching on broken shards of glass with my shoes from the light-bulb coating the kitchen floor as the sudden blaring of my ringtone startles me from my phone in my front jean pocket.

I check caller ID as the screen flashes up at me in the dark. Uh-oh. It's my Granny Rose. It's about time she called me. Without hesitation, I press the answer button, holding the phone up to my ear while leaning against the sink.

"Hello, Granny," I murmur fondly.

"Hello, dear," she says back in her sweet, frail voice. "Your mother has told me some exciting news about you?" Oh, good. Here we go. I brace myself for it with a tight grin, knowing what's bound to come next. Much as I love my grandmother, she can be a little imposing at times. "Carla tells me that you finally met your soul mate?"

"I did. Mom was telling the truth, Granny." I flush, remembering what just happened barely minutes ago; Christian pressing me up against the fridge, how heated we got together. How he gave me my very first orgasm. It was so intense, the heightened danger of the light-bulb exploding adding to that. Not that I would ever tell my Granny, of course. "I can see color now. It's been... five or six days since it happened."

"Ooh, what's he like?"

"Um, well, he's very..." I hesitate, unsure how to answer that, feeling hot all over. There's just too many ways to describe him. "He's... great. Very handsome, Granny. "

She chuckles on the other line happily. "Oh, I bet he is, pet. So when's the wedding?"

When's the wedding? Gee. "Um, there's no wedding date planned as yet, Gran," I admit uneasily. "We haven't talked about anything like that yet." She hums on the other line, sounding disappointed. "It's just that we're taking time, getting to know each other a lot before we even so much as begin speaking of marriage and all of that serious stuff, so we're just... cruising along, taking our time."

"Well, don't take too long, darling. I want to see this young fellow make an honest woman out of my granddaughter before I get too old and die." I laugh, even although I know she's being completely serious. "I want to see you in a beautiful wedding gown, walking down the aisle."

"Well, things were far different nowadays to how it was back when you met Grandpa Jack. Nowadays marriage isn't such a priority at the moment. Like I said, we're taking it slow and enjoying ourselves."

I catch a glow of light moving through the living room. Just my luck, it's Christian holding a lit candle. Why does he have to appear now, now that I'm stuck having to deal with my Grandmother and her imposing questions? I know she'll want to speak to him.

I move my mouth away from the phone, covering it with my hand as I speak to Christian softly, "You found candles?" I whisper to him. He comes closer, glass cracking beneath his shoes, his face glowing eerily in the flame. "Any luck with finding the fuse box or anything to turn the electricity back on?"

"Nothing as yet. Who are you talking to?"

"My Granny Rose actually just so happened to call me," I explain, then as I place my ear back to the phone, I hear Gran.

"What's that, dear?" she calls. "I can't seem to hear you for some strange reason, pet? Think the receptions playing up?"

"Oh, no, Gran, I was just talking to Christian, the, um... person I was just talking about. I'm at his house right now, sleeping over."

I know what she's going to say the instance I say it. "Oh, so that's his name, the young fellow? Your soul mate? Can I speak to him?" I cringe, pressing the phone onto speaker so I can hear their conversation.

"Granny Rose wants to speak to you," I murmur to Christian with an anxious laugh.

Though it's hard to tell in only the candlelight, Christian seems composed and willing. He hands me the lit candle carefully, taking my phone from me.

"Hello, this must be the infamous Granny Rose that I've heard about from Anastasia? You wished to speak to me?"

I catch myself nibbling down on my thumb nail anxiously as Gran exclaims loudly over the phone, making the speaker gush with air. "Yes, hello. Are you going to make an honest woman out of my granddaughter?" There she goes, blunt and brutal. I watch Christian apprehensively through the candlelight, trying to guage his expression. It's impossible to know how he feels on her question though.

"I certainly hope so one of these days," he murmurs, and he smiles, raising his eyebrows at me. Wow, we haven't even spoken about marriage and yet, here he is, saying this? I have a feeling he's simply trying to appease my Grandmother though. She laughs on the other line, so I guess it's working.

"You're a man," Gran says on the other line, somewhat surprised.

"Uh, yes," Christian answers and finally, I notice his composure cracking a little. He sounds wary, anxious. "I am?"

"You're not my dear Ana's age, are you? I can tell by your voice. You're older?"

"That's right. I'm twenty eight."

"Not too old for my Ana then. You better treat her well and like the special girl she deserves to be treated as, won't you?" I cup my mouth, trying to stifle my giggle in the palm of my hand. God, she's terrible. "If I find out from my granddaughter that you haven't, you'll be dealing with me."

"Consider me properly warned."

"When do I get to meet you?" Oh, God. Just imagining poor Christian being in the room with her while my Grandma Rose interrogates him; I cringe a little just thinking about it. It's bound to be overwhelming on him, because I know firsthand that my Grandma can be impossibly blunt and forward at times.

Christian hesitates for a moment, blinking at me through the light. "Hopefully very shortly," he answers uncertainly.

"I'm looking forward to it then. You tell my Ana that I better go. I was just calling to hear the news." I don't think she realizes that she's on speaker phone, that I can hear her and talk to her as well. Then again, she isn't exactly up-to-date with technology, especially at her age.

"I can hear you, Granny Rose," I assure her softly. "I put the speakers on so that we can both hear you. We'll definitely have to visit so that you two can meet very soon."

"Sounds good, darling."

"How have you been feeling?" I ask hastily, knowing she's been having trouble with her vision ever since her soul mate and my grandfather Jack died. "How have your eyes been?"

"Oh, same old, pet. Only in one eye, it's getting worse."

My stomach sinks in sadness for her. It's been a while since I've last spoken to her. "Oh, no. That's not good, Gran? So there definitely isn't anything any doctors can do?"

"Nothing, they say. Doctor says only choice I have is to hope it gets better. Can't see it doing that anytime soon, though. It just keeps going from bad to worse. Can hardly see out of my left eye now."

"Oh, that's no good, Gran."

"Can't complain, I suppose. No use complaining. Visit soon with your fellow, alright?"

"Will do."

"Love you, pet."

"Love you, too," I murmur back with a smile.

"It was great talking to you," Christian says politely, and Gran murmurs it back, then the phone clicks off as she ends the call. I try to see his face carefully through the flickering candlelight as I switch off my phone. It's nerve-wracking, not being able to see him properly without the lights on. I can't tell or read how he is feeling over her conversation with him at all. "Well, that was nice, getting the chance to speak to her," he murmurs.

"Really?" I ask uncertainly. "I know she can be a little... forward and interrogative? It's just the way she is."

"When you told me about her, I gathered she was quite the woman, the character. She certainly didn't disappoint." To my relief, he doesn't sound uncomfortable by their conversation at all. "I found a few candles and some matches that I had lying around," he adds, and he moves towards the table in the dark, shards of glass breaking beneath his shoes. "Just be careful when you move out of here, won't you? There's a lot of broken glass from the light-bulb."

"That was so strange, how that happened," I murmur breathlessly. "Is the entire building out?"

"Well, I checked the elevator and that isn't working, so I'd say so."

Despite how freaked out I am, I end up cracking up with laughter in astonishment. "Wow, so the entire building's electricity is down right now? None of the lights are working in any of your rooms whatsoever?"

"None of them." I laugh again and he joins me, chuckling just as breathlessly himself. The sound of his laughter, it makes those tingles infect me again, covering my skin. "I just tried them all, believe me."

"You think it _was_ because of us? Because of what we did?"

"It appears so," he mutters. He grabs the candle from me, setting it on the table while he works at lighting more candles. Then he adds under his breath wryly, "Blackout by orgasm." It only causes me to crack up even more.

"That's definitely a way to put it," I whisper, my voice shaky with laughter. "Blackout by orgasm indeed." It's so good that we can see the humor in it all, despite how creepy and unnerving it is.

I can't help wondering if there is something abnormal with me then, though, if I caused it, the outage, all due to what Christian was doing to me. Does that usually happen during intimate times between two soul mated couples or is it something exclusive to us?

"What if we're stuck in here for days all because the elevator isn't working?" I can't help stressing.

"That's doubtful," he assures me assuredly. "Taylor comes up of a morning. Gail, also. Part of my security team. Someone is bound to notice it tomorrow and get everything up and running again. I wouldn't worry too much about it, Anastasia."

With four candles lit, he passes me two, and I follow him out carefully into the living room. Thank god for candles, even although it doesn't emit too much light. I can't help glancing out towards his window and the balcony, checking.

We didn't cause a worldwide catastrophe then; Parts of Seattle are still brightly lit up, large looming buildings and the streetlights. It must just only be his building then. Hopefully the electricity will be up and running sooner than we think.

"Want me to get us more wine?" Christian asks as I watch him carefully put a lit candle on the coffee table near his large couch.

"After what just happened? Yes, please, Christian. Wine sounds very good after that."

"Be right back. Make yourself comfortable, but try not to ignite anything, will you?"

I laugh again at his joke. "Oh, I can't make any promises, Mr Grey." I'm grinning widely to myself as I step around his couch, sitting while holding onto the flickering candles warily.

I turn and watch as Christian disappears back into the kitchen, though all I can really see is barely the faint outline of his vivid red shirt, his body, and that glowering flame from his candle. I laugh again softly to myself, tossing my head in bewilderment. How strange tonight has turned out. But in a good, enjoyable strange.

Christian returns slowly a moment later, struggling with two glasses, the candle, and something tucked beneath his arm. I reach up, accepting a glass of wine from him quickly while placing the candles upright on the table.

As he sits beside me, sinking into the cushion, I see he's holding the box of chocolates I got for our dessert. I'd completely forgotten about them, funnily enough.

"Look what I found," he murmurs, reaching forward to place his wine glass on the table. He busies himself in opening the wrapping on the box.

"Our dessert. I completely forgot."

I'm not even sure what the chocolates will be like, but once he peels the wrapping off, he opens the lid. He doesn't offer me one. Instead, he does something that completely surprises me. He selects one, holding it between his fingers. Then he shifts towards me on the couch, his eyes reflecting brightly in the candlelight as he looks at me.

"Open your mouth, Anastasia," he says softly, his voice rather hoarse.

I understand what he means immediately in saying that, and I feel my mouth go dry. He wants to feed me a chocolate. Surprisingly, it's exciting, fun, the fact that he does.

"Okay," I murmur nervously, agreeing. I shift a little on the cushion so I'm facing him more. "Yes, I would like a chocolate." Obediently, I open my mouth a little, parting my lips while staring deep into his flashing eyes, that tingling sensation hitting me hard, brutally, all over every inch of my skin.

He brings the chocolate he's holding up to my mouth, to my lips. I'm thankful now that the power and electricity is off, I find, because no doubt, if he could see me properly, he'd only tease me over how red my face is bound to be.

He slips the chocolate between my teeth, and I bite down, chomping a piece off with a happy hum. It melts inside my mouth instantly, flavorsome, a hint of peppermint creme and dark chocolate. Christian pops the rest of it inside his mouth, sucking, chewing.

"These chocolates are nicer than I thought they would be," I murmur while sucking, pleased. "I wasn't sure if they'd be nice or not, but they're actually really good." I have to force my eyes away, glancing down at the wine that shimmers in the glass. I've nothing done anything like this before, nor had I dreamed I ever would. Though innocent and harmless, Christian just feeding me chocolate and him eating it too, it's a lot more... seductive somehow. "Would you be nervous?" I force myself to ask, hoping to break the tension.

"Nervous with what, Ana?"

"If you did meet my Grandmother Rose?"

"Not at all. I think I'd like to."

"It'll probably be worse in person though," I point out nervously, bringing my glass of wine to my lips, sipping it. It washes away the sweetness of the chocolate. "She'll probably be embarrassing, asking you more questions about us getting married or... whether we'll have children. Are you sure you wouldn't be too put-off by that?"

"I'm not one to be afraid of a few questions, Anastasia," he assures me. "Another chocolate?"

"Mm, yes, please." Just like before, he does it again, feeding me. I try to get over the nerves quivering inside me as I hold his gaze while he brings another chocolate to my lips. I bite into it, my lips and tongue brushing against his fingers. This chocolate this time seems to be hazelnut.

Christian finishes it off, placing it into his mouth, sucking his fingers clean. Absently, I realize he probably had my saliva on his fingers, seeing as my tongue brushed against them. I realize he probably doesn't even care.

"I'd like for you to meet my family one day as well," he says after swallowing, surprising me.

"Really? You would?" I think I'd like that, too. There wouldn't be much point in not doing that, would there? "I think that would be nice. I've never been invited to meet someone's family before."

"Likewise. I haven't either." He picks another chocolate, only this time, he eats it all himself. Reaching over, I grab one myself, nibbling on it. Another peppermint creme. "I haven't... brought anyone to meet mine so it would be rather new to me." I catch an anxious edge to his voice.

"I haven't either, Christian. So you didn't invite any girlfriends you had to meet your parents?" I'm just curious, and I voice the question carefully, being cautious not to mention the particular name of a certain ex of his.

I sense him watching me in a wary, cautious way as he chews and sucks. "I haven't ever before, no." He offers me another chocolate and I take one. "Honestly, the relationships I had- if you could even call them that- weren't... the types where you took them home to meet the parents."

Hmm, that comment makes me think deeply while nibbling on my chocolate. Sometimes he says things that leave me hanging for more. I wonder what he means by that, though I can't deny to being sort of relieved. But what does he mean, that they weren't the types of relationships that would end up with the woman being introduced to his folks? So Leila never met them?

"Was that because you knew they weren't your soul mate, so you didn't really... feel it necessary to introduce them?" I ask slowly, unable to curb my curiosity.

"Something like that, yes. To be honest, I didn't feel it was... serious enough to warrant that."

After that, we fall into a sort of peaceful silent, eating chocolate and sipping our glasses of wine. It's really nice. I'm definitely enjoying myself a lot tonight, even despite the freaky blackout incident we are experiencing in his penthouse.

"Say yes," he whispers after a while, his voice startlingly desperate, pleading.

"Say yes to what, Christian?"

"To staying here on the weekends. Fridays through to Sundays. Say yes." He sounds as though he really wants it. It makes my cheeks burn.

"Yes," I murmur without hesitation, and it's surprisingly easy, how it comes and falls from my mouth. It's a big step, but I realize I do want it. It's time to take chances and let it go naturally how it wants to go, no matter how frightening it may be. "Yes, I'll stay over at your place on the weekends for the time being, Christian."

I think he's relieved and happy, but I can't be too sure. A yawn escapes from me, one I'm too late to stifle, so Christian rises, grabbing a lit candle, wandering into his bedroom to find me something to wear to bed seeing as I didn't bring any clothes for my stay. That's fine by me though; I did enjoy wearing one of his shirts last time. Grabbing one last chocolate, I suck on it while following him into the bedroom too.

I can barely just see him as he carries something that he's found from in his wardrobe. "This alright?" he breathes, showing me a long blue business T-shirt with buttons.

"Sure. It's fine by me."

I don't bother getting changed in another room like the bathroom this time around. I stay in the room with him, despite how nervous I feel, how sort of exposed and self-conscious as I peel off my jeans, stepping out of them. I hardly think he can see much anyway, seeing as the lights are down with only the faint flickering from the candles. I'm wearing underwear and a bra anyway.

I hear a faint rustling noise from his side of the room as he takes off his clothes himself, and it takes all the effort I have not to peek, tempted as I am to.

I strip out of my shirt, throwing my arms quickly through the sleeves of his large T-shirt, shivering while attempting to blindly do up the buttons. Once I'm done, I already find Christian pulling back the covers on his bed, dressed in nothing but a pair of boxers. It's light enough from the candles that I can see the light emitting from his bare, toned skin, his muscular thighs.

I wonder if he'll want me to reciprocate, I can't help thinking as he climbs into bed, turning on his side, making room for me. I wonder if he would want me to do what he did, in rubbing him with my hand, even although I don't know much, of course. It couldn't be that hard, could it?

While this is a pace I am comfortable with right now, reciprocating in that way, through the material of his boxer briefs, is something I find myself eager and all-too-happy to do. I mightn't be totally ready for that major stage as yet, the sex stage, but stuff like this wouldn't hurt.

I bite down on my lip, undecided as I slip in beside him while he holds the sheets open for me, inviting me in. He puts his arm around me as I shift over so that I'm facing him, the side of my head against the pillow. I think it's mainly making the first move that's difficult.

"Um, you know how you did what you did to me before?" I begin nervously, glancing up at him through the faint light. "In your kitchen?"

"Yes, what about it?"

"Well, I..." I hesitate, feeling myself redden again. "I really enjoyed that."

He laughs softly at my words as he rolls slightly on his back, reaching behind him with an arm, tucking his hand behind his head. It would be so easy to do it. All I would have to do is reach down beneath the sheets. "Yes, I think it was obvious, how much you enjoyed that, Anastasia," he murmurs with a smile, his gray eyes glinting at me from the candlelight. "If blackout by orgasm was any indication..."

I laugh softly at his words myself. Blackout by orgasm. It's so true. There cannot be any other explanation for what happened; It can't be a coincidence, the electricity shutting off and the light-bulb exploding at the same time he did that to me.

I don't know how I'll manage to say it, but I sort of let it out in a quick, embarrassed breath. "Um, I... I know I said I wanted to take this slow, but I'm happy to reciprocate, if you wanted me to?"

"Reciprocate?" he breathes, swallowing loudly.

"You know, um..."

I just get it over with before I lose my courage altogether. I reach down between us, beneath the sheet with my hand, feeling around with my fingers. When I locate his boxers and, more importantly, what's there between them, I rub around in a circular motion, my cheeks feeling blistering hot as I force myself not to avoid Christian's gaze.

His lips part at my actions, a hiss escaping through his clenched teeth as he swallows again. "You sure?" he mutters in shock, I think. "Ana, I don't expect you to force yourself to-"

"-I want to," I promise him. "I really do. It's only fair."

He looks astonished for all of a brief second, before something else takes over in his expression, something... empowering. He clenches his eyes shut as I begin a repetitive stroking movement through the fabric of his briefs, pressing down with my fingers. I feel his pelvis flex instinctively, I feel him hardening. I've never felt an erection before, no less been the cause for one, I don't think. Even through the silky fabric, there's so much heat.

"This way," he whispers unsteadily, and he brings his hand down beneath the sheets, pressing his hand firmly over mine, guiding me, showing me.

He presses down with his fingers over mine, making me wrap mine around him through the fabric so I'm completely touching him, stroking the outline of him that stands erect in his boxers. When Christian slowly reopens his eyes to peer over at me, the look in them, the desire, the warmth, it's... everything.

"That's it, Ana," he mutters in approval, and he moves his hand away, letting me do it all on my own. "Exactly like that." A groan comes from the back of his throat as I pick up speed while flexing my fingers, being firmer, feeling more confident with it. "I'm... I'm going to come," he warns me, and he closes his eyes again tight with another grunt. The fact that I can do this to him, that I'm capable of making him feel this way, it's satisfying.

I grip even harder and then he cries out, bucking with his hips as something warm and sticky trickles, leaking through the fabric of his briefs while he pants raggedly, heavily.

I bring my hand away, watching with a smile as Christian breathes shakily, another groan leaving his mouth, his forehead appearing slightly damp with sweat. I mightn't be ready for the next part as yet, but at least in the meantime, I can learn other things to do that I am comfortable with.

At the back of my mind, it occurs to me. Nothing happened this time with him. No smashing glass this time. No blackouts. Nothing.

 _Thank you so much for your comments and encouragement, it really does help motivate me. Hope you enjoyed this one, they are getting there gradually :D I hope I haven't written Ana too immature and annoying, hopefully her reactions are fairly believable. Trouble will happen soon, some more drama with Leila. Christian's secretive ways will definitely be biting him in the ass. I'd love to know what you think? Am I doing okay? Is the pace still too slow? Am I writing Ana/Christian too annoying?_


	15. Chapter 15

_**Shades of Black and White**_

After what I did to him, we lay around in bed, while I listen to his breathing go deeper then... eventually slower, while he recovers. I shift closer beside him, enough that our legs tangle between each others beneath the sheets, resting my head near his warm shoulder. He reaches over, tucking his arm beneath me, lifting his hand to stroke strands of my hair gently with his fingertips as his breathing gets under control. Those pleasant tingles infect me again, that static electricity, as I smile to myself, rubbing my fingertips together absently.

Even although I stroked him through his boxers, my fingers still feel a little sticky after he came. It was surprisingly easy- and I can't deny I'm pleased by the results. Particularly with it being my first time and all.

I think I already know the answer, but I bring myself to ask anyway nervously, "Was that, um, okay for you?"

I hear him chuckle breathlessly at my question and my cheeks flush. "You really need to ask that, Anastasia?" His voice still sounds funny. Throaty, tight.

"Well, I've never done that to anyone before obviously. Nor did I think I ever really would."

"You were... wonderful," Christian mutters, assuring me. I can feel myself beaming at his praise, ridiculous as that is. I hope he can't see me well enough in the candlelight that flickers beside his bed. I don't think he can, anyway. He inhales out deeply through his mouth. "So you've never... really done that with someone before? Ever?"

"No, I really haven't. You could probably tell."

"I couldn't."

"I guess I did pretty well for a first time then, didn't I?"

He laughs again softly. "You definitely did. Thank you, though you really didn't have to force yourself to."

"I wasn't forcing myself to. I wanted to do it, Christian."

I know he's done it before or has even had someone do that to him before; What he did to me out up against his fridge in his kitchen, and more. I don't want to ask him about it, though, because... I'm not sure how I would feel if I knew. Would I be insecure to know what he's done with other women, like his ex Leila? Would I feel... jealous? I know he's definitely experienced way more than I am. I can just tell, by his confidence, his ease at kissing me.

I press my lips together, sighing through my nose contently as he resumes stroking my hair.

Sometimes it's better not knowing all the details, especially when it comes to someone's sexual life. I may want to know more about him as a person and maybe, some details of how his past relationship was with his ex out of mere curiosity, but not about the intimacy aspect of it. I don't want to. I don't want to somehow feel hurt if I knew.

"So yes?" he breathes after a few moments of silence.

"Hmm?"

"So it's a yes to sleeping over with me, Fridays through to Sundays?"

"Oh, yes." I try again not to stress over how fast things are going. Everyone has to take chances, I'm sure. It's new and scary, moving in with him even for weekends, but it's something that's meant to happen. I remember how the electricity that went out, the 'blackout by orgasm'- as he so aptly puts it. "What happens if Taylor or Gail doesn't come in tomorrow and we're stuck here in your penthouse with the electricity out for hours?" I know it's unlikely, like he said, but I'm sort of humoring myself.

"Then we're stuck here. At least there's food and water." He lifts up, stroking his chin around my forehead, making me light up with tingles again. "We won't starve or get too dehydrated."

I laugh. "Yes, at least I know how to cook really well, so that prevents us from starving."

"Yes, thank God for you and your cooking skills, Miss Steele," he plays along teasingly. "Otherwise we'd have to resort to cannibalism."

"Cannibalism?" My voice shakes with laughter. "Surely, even if we were that ravenous, we'd have high enough standards that we wouldn't feel tempted to eat each other, right?"

"Well, I don't know about you, but I can't make any promises. Once the foods gone, I can't guarantee what I might or mightn't do to you." He manages to sound so unfairly serious. I lift up with my head, shifting over on my side to meet his gaze doubtfully, checking to make sure he's still fooling around with me while gnawing on my bottom lip with my teeth. With what minimal light the candles offer, it's impossible to tell.

"Are you saying you'd eat me if the food was gone and you got hungry enough?"

"Oh, definitely." I feel the breath hitch in my throat as he reaches up, catching my chin in his hand. He starts stroking around my chin with his thumb, then he tugs a little, making me release my bottom lip from my teeth. "I'd definitely have to eat that lip of yours that you have a habit of biting, Anastasia."

I feel my cheeks flush as I giggle incredulously. He must be paying more attention to me than I've thought he has. I hadn't known he'd notice I have a habit of biting my lip, just a tick I do whenever I'm anxious, something I've done ever since I can remember. "You'd eat my lip if you were that hungry because we're trapped in here?" I mutter through laughter.

"Well, maybe not eat your lip," he corrects effortlessly. He drags his thumb along the length of my bottom lip, making it prickle. "But when I see you biting it, it makes me want to bite your lip, too." I make him want to bite my lip whenever I bite it? Hmm, I never thought of that. I feel him scrutinizing my face deeply in the light, his eyes shining up at me. Then I hear him exhale through his nose. "Can I do something?" he asks me after a seconds worth of hesitation, his voice completely devoid of humor now. He's done teasing me now.

"What? Bite my lip too, Christian?"

He makes a deep noise of amusement. "Tempting as that is right now, Anastasia, that isn't quite what I meant."

"What?" I ask curiously, gently; the severity in his voice startling me. "What is it that you what to do then?"

"Lie down on your back," he orders gently, sitting propped up on his side.

I feel my stomach knot with tension. Lie on my back? Why? Does he want to do something else to me like he did in his kitchen? Sex? What if I'm not completely ready for that next step yet?

Regardless of my nerves and the quaking feeling in my stomach, I lie back, spreading my legs beneath the sheets. I watch Christian with wide, cautious eyes as he gets up on his knees, hovering over me in the flickering lights. I really wish I could see him better to know what he intends to do; The candlelight just bathes him in a faint white glow.

I inhale in deeply when he leans over me, and he reaches out, touching my chin again with his fingers. I swallow against a dry lump in my throat as he glides the tips of them down my throat, down towards the neck of his business shirt that I'm wearing. "Christian, I... I'm not so sure that I'm ready for that yet," I murmur anxiously. "I mean, I really enjoyed what you did in the kitchen and what I... I _did_ to you just then, but I-"

"-It's not that, Ana. I just want to have a look." _Have a look? A look at what exactly? At my breasts?_

He trails his fingers down and, because it's baggy on me and I must have forgotten to do the top three buttons up, he has easy access to my cleavage. All he has to do is yank his shirt down slightly for me to know that the cups of my bra are exposed to him, my collarbone and my chest.

"So you're sure no one ever tried to hurt you?" he mutters, his voice barely audible as he brushes his fingers carefully, tenderly, just above my breast bone. I realize his intentions then when it occurs to me that he's asking about my birthmarks again, the ones I've had ever since I was practically born.

"Oh, no. They're just birthmarks, Christian. Something I... I was born with." A strange gasping noise tears through my mouth as without warning, he leans down, pressing feather-light kisses around my chest, around my birthmarks gently. It makes my stomach muscles dance, a smile coming across my lips. "Why would you think that, anyway?" I ask, bewildered. "Why would you think someone hurt me when they're just simple, harmless birthmarks that I was born with?"

I reach down to touch his face when he kisses me again a couple of times around my marks, cupping his warm face, his cheeks. Then it sinks in. He has marks identical to mine on his chest. Did someone hurt him there? Is that why he's asking because someone did that to him?

"Did someone hurt you?" I breathe in concern. "Is that why you're asking? Someone hurt you there, and that's how you got your marks that look similar to mine?"

"Of course not," he mutters, inhaling into my skin, over my marks. "No one hurt me either, Anastasia. I'm simply... asking." I catch a defensive edge to his voice, though I'm not entirely sure what that's about. "I suppose I just..." He pauses, pressing warm kisses around my skin again. "I loathe the thought of someone actually hurting you, of someone... giving you these." There's a hardness in his voice that I haven't heard before.

It's quite sweet, yet disturbing. How angry he sounds, how protective of me at the idea of someone ever causing me harm. I just don't understand where he would get that impression though? "Well, don't worry," I murmur, slipping both hands into his hair. His hair is so soft, so thick, as I run my fingers through it gently. "No one hurt me at all, Christian. They're just birthmarks, I promise."

I remember when I was younger, how I had to wear a swimsuit when learning to swim as a little girl. How all the girl's looked at me, noticing the marks on my body. How one girl even asked if I'd been burnt there.

"I remember at school when I was younger, a girl actually asked me whether I'd gotten burnt when I had to wear a swimsuit and she saw the marks," I admit to Christian quietly. "I know that they... they probably look like burns- she even asked if they were like cigarette burns or something- but they really aren't anything like that. I was just born with them and, oddly enough, _you_ have them too." Planting one last, tender kiss on one of the marks, he lifts his head to peer up at me, resting his chin on the swell of my breasts. "Don't you find that strange? How we... we both have matching marks on our chests? Do you think it's like some weird soul mate thing that... connects us together or something?" I know I'm probably silly, wondering that. But I am genuinely curious.

"I'm not sure myself, Anastasia," Christian murmurs quietly, pensively.

"Too many things have happened that are so strange," I gush out speculatively. "First, how we both have matching marks on our chests. Then the... the light exploding in your kitchen." I remember something else that happened when I was younger too, while staying at Kate's parents house, though I'm not sure whether to tell him or not. I decide to anyway. "Have you ever played with a Ouija board before?" I ask curiously.

"No, I haven't. Have you?"

"I did, one time when I was younger. It was Kate's birthday, I'm pretty sure, and when I...when it was my turn to ask a question, Kate asked the Ouija board spirits for what my soul mates name will be that will end up giving me color in the future."

"And what did it say?" he asks, intrigued. "Did it end up being right, the... 'Ouija board spirits'?" There's a cynical edge to his voice, like he doesn't quite believe me or believe in stuff like spirits.

"Actually, it _was_ right," I admit, spooked. I feel a shudder pass through me at the eeriness of it. "It said my soul mates name in the future would be Christian. And that's _your_ name, isn't it?"

To my annoyance, he chuckles.

"What?" I mutter. "You don't believe me now? You think I'm making that up?"

He stops laughing, falling silent. "Of course I don't think your making it up," he whispers after a second of thought. "I just... I don't know what to think, to be completely honest with you." He lays another kiss onto my chest before getting to his knees, moving back beside me on his back. "But your right. Certain things, they..." He pauses, considering. "They can't be a coincidence. I'm not sure what it means myself, of course. But it _is_ certainly strange."

"I know it is," I murmur in agreement. I feel his fingers stroking my hair again, gently moving my fringe out of my eyes with his thumb and forefinger. "So many strange things happened when I was younger. Like... I don't know, like they say maybe? How it's destiny or... fate or something?"

"I've never believed in all of that, to be honest. Fate. Destiny. But perhaps you're right." Things fall comfortably silent after that, but I find I cannot sleep or even try to. There are so many things, to surreal and odd to be mere coincidences.

XXXX

Light fills the room, bringing me out of my sleep. I open my eyes, blinking heavily, Seattle morning greeting me from outside the large window in Christian's penthouse. I move slowly on my pillow, turning my head. I smile to myself when I notice Christian's still in bed with me, still deep in sleep. He hadn't woken up and left me alone like he had that other time I slept here.

His head is turned, so he's facing me, his arm still slung behind my neck, his hand resting on my shoulder. I study him, looking at him alone causing me to break out in those constant irritating tingles. He looks so peaceful, his mouth slightly parted as he breathes heavily. I still have moments where I feel shocked, that I still feel like it's surreal, the fact that I'm here now, that I've finally at last met my soul mate. The world's in full spectrum of color, and everything, it's finally happening, tumbling down at my feet at a fast pace.

Already, he's asked me to move in on the weekends. Already, he's been introduced to one of my favorite people in the world, my Grandmother Rose. Already, he's given me my first experience at an orgasm. Already, I learnt how to pleasure him through his clothes with my hand- all in the matter of hardly a full week. It's been quite the accomplishment in seven days, I realize, grinning to myself dozily as I watch him. So many things have happened already since we first met.

I lick my lips, moistening them as my eyes fall to his chest, at the light patch of dark hair there, at the marks around his chest, matching mine. His question was odd last night, how he seemed worried yet again that I got my birthmarks because someone hurt me. Did someone hurt him? That has to be the reason for it, though he obviously isn't ready to tell that to me either. The temptation to lean over, to press a few kisses into his marks like he did mine last night builds sky-high.

But I remember his reaction the last time I slept over, how he acted so panicked at me about to touch them, that I have to force myself not to. It's another thing about him that he hasn't told me about himself- why he doesn't like being touched there.

I could really gaze at him all day long while he sleeps, but needs make themselves known. Like using the bathroom, for instance. I really need to use the toilet.

Reluctantly, I sit up, pulling the sheet off myself. It's freezing at this time of the morning, just in one of his shirts, so I'm shivering as I creep slowly out of the room, finding his bathroom. As I enter, I go to the toilet quickly, looking around at his pristine white tiles and his large bathtub. Then I notice he has two toothbrushes in his holder, one a light pink color. For a woman?

I flush, approaching the sink, washing my hands while inspecting the toothbrush curiously. One toothbrush obviously belongs to him, but who does the pink one belong to? Did it belong to his ex and he simply forgot to throw it out? Did she use this bathroom too and accidentally left her belongings in here?

I feel ill at the thought, even although I'm not sure why. Pushing it aside, I head back into the bedroom, stopping by the doorway, peering at Christian. My heart leaps in my throat as he holds my gaze through heavy eyelids. He's awake; He must have noticed I'd disappeared.

"Good morning, Anastasia," he murmurs, looking both pleased to see me, yet half-asleep too, leaning there on his muscular forearms, the blanket low over his toned chest, his hair tousled from sleep. He must see something concerning on my face, because he swallows loudly. "Are you alright? You look... cold, yet oddly upset, among other things?"

I don't know whether I should bring it up, but I decide to anyway. "I noticed you had two toothbrushes in your bathroom?" I murmur curiously.

He brings up a hand, rubbing his eyes with his fingers. When he finally meets my gaze again, he looks more alert, more coherent. "Did you now, Miss Steele?"

"I did. One of them was pink?"

"That ones for Taylor," he says wryly, a teasing edge to his voice. "Pink so happens to be Taylor's favorite color."

"Really?" If he's joking, he's doing a good job. I can't tell whether he is being serious or not at all. "Taylor doesn't strike me as someone that would go much on hot pink, though? He doesn't really seem like the type?"

Finally, he drops the convincing act, laughing. "I'm just teasing, Anastasia. The toothbrush is for you. I figured that if you were going to be staying here, I may as well try to make it easier."

For me? "Oh? And why would you think of getting me a toothbrush? Did you know I'd eventually agree to staying over here on weekends?" I try to sound insulted, though I'm joking myself.

"Well, call me over-prepared. I was braced and ready to come guns a blazing once I asked you, fully armored for a stubborn fight to be put up like you had that day over me buying you the car."

I cross my arms over my chest, feigning anger. "How awfully presumptuous of you, Mr Grey. Buying me a toothbrush for here already?"

He runs his gray eyes down my body slowly, down the baggy T-shirt of his that I'm wearing. "Your shivering. Why don't you come back to bed where it's toasty warm?" He opens the sheets, making it extra inviting.

Because I am awfully cold, I relent, padding over to the bed, sliding back in beneath the sheets. "Toasty warm, indeed," I murmur with a smile as he pushes his bare feet up against my ankles, warming me.

"How would you like some breakfast?" he asks me, eyeing me intently.

"Are you offering to cook me breakfast?" I ask playfully. "After you told me last night that one of your fatal flaws was cooking in a kitchen, you think I'm actually going to take you up on that offer?"

"Good God, no," he mutters, feigning horror. Then he considers with a shrug, his lips trying to mask his smile. "Unless you're willing to eat burnt, overcooked mushy inedible food?"

"Ugh, no thanks."

"I meant heading out," he explains, more seriously. "I thought we could go somewhere and have breakfast together?"

"Mm, sounds good."

"Shall we get changed and then head out?"

"Okay," I agree happily. "That sounds like a good plan."

Dressed in my old cloths that I wore yesterday, I can't help feeling a bit dirty, even although the clothes are mostly clean. I really should have packed some clothes for sleeping over at his place, but I feel better once my teeth are freshly brushed. It was so nice of him to get me my own toothbrush for staying here at least. It may be a small thing to do, but it signifies so much more between the lines, that gesture. It tells me alone that Christian is ready for me to be in his penthouse, that he's willing to have me in his life completely.

Christian gets dressed in jeans and a white polo shirt this time- making me sort of miss the vivid red of his older shirt that he wore yesterday- and he takes my hand as we head out of the room together. I notice a woman in his kitchen, on her knees with a broom. Is the elevator finally working now and the electricity?

I only fully realize what she's doing when I hear the chinking of shards of glass. Oh, no. The poor woman has to clean up the mess we made. Well, the mess the light-bulb made for exploding on us. The woman pauses from collecting her broom to glance up at us, our footsteps alerting her to our presence.

"Mr Grey, Sir," she greets, and when she meets my gaze, I smile at her apologetically at all the mess.

"Mrs Jones, I'd like to introduce you to Anastasia, my soul mate," Christian says, and the woman looks me over questioningly. "Anastasia, this is Mrs Jones. Or Gail, as I called her last night. Ana will be staying here a couple of days on the weekends."

Oh, Gail. His housemaid and cook. "Hi," I smile shyly. "It's nice to meet you. Um, I'm sorry about all the glass."

She laughs, surprising me. "That's fine, please. You don't need to apologize."

"Where's Taylor?" Christian asks. "Is he here?"

"Ah, yes, Sir. He's in the foyer."

"Thank you, Gail." Christian pulls me along, and we find Taylor where Gail said he was, in the foyer, sitting in an armchair. He's reading. "Taylor, Anastasia and I are going out for breakfast this morning."

He glances up between us, shutting his book. "Will you be needing me to drive, Sir?"

"No, that's fine. Is everything up and running again?" Christian asks. "There was a... a problem with the electricity last night, Taylor."

"Yes, I noticed. Everything's up and running smoothly again, sir." Meeting my gaze, Taylor winks at me. I flush and laugh, wondering if he knows or suspects the reason why for the blackout. Does Taylor know all about blackout by orgasm? "Well, I'll leave you both to it. Have a good breakfast."

"We will do, Taylor."

XXX

Taking one of his cars, Christian ends up driving us to a small, intimate restaurant for breakfast. He finds a spot to park, and then as we get out, we head inside, my stomach growling already for food. I still feel a bit guilty over poor Gail having to clean up our mess. I really should have swept all the glass up the instance I woke.

A waitress shows us to a table near the window, and Christian steps forward to pull my chair open for me. It will probably take me a while to get over how gentlemanly he can be with his manners. I smile at him appreciatively as I sit, then focus on the menu as the waitress hands them to us.

"What do you feel like?" Christian asks, reading his menu as well.

"The pancakes," I admit. "The blueberry pancakes sound delicious."

"Two of the blueberry pancakes please," Christian says, finally giving the waitress his attention. "And also, I'll pay the additional charge for the maple syrup and the strawberries." I notice he doesn't say thank you. He sounds so in-charge, so confident as he orders. Once the woman has taken down our orders, she leaves with our menus, smiling politely.

"You sounded very in your element," I comment.

He smiles at me as he reaches over across the table, taking my hand. He rubs his thumb over my knuckles. "I'm used to making the orders. It's what happens when you run a business. Business and real life tend to blur into each other after a while."

"I noticed."

"Wait here," he says firmly, standing from his chair. I glance up at him questioningly as he looks around the restaurant, searching for something. "I just need to use the bathroom," he explains. "I'll be right back."

"Okay," I murmur. I watch as he strides to the men's restrooms, pushing the door open.

For the sake of avoiding boredom, I glance around the room as I wait for him to return, chanting colors inside my head as I notice them. Yellow. The paint on the walls is yellow. White and red. The table-cloths are white with red lines, very rustic looking. Black. The chairs are black.

My eyes catch onto something- or _someone_ , sitting at a table across from us- and my heart seems to stop for one single second. She's here. Christian's ex, I think. Leila. I recognize her, although I didn't see much of her. It has to be her from what I saw of her that day through the window when Christian and I went out that time after he brought me the car. But why is she here in the same place as us? How?

She holds my gaze, her eyes piercing. She looks so thin, so skinny in the baggy clothes she's wearing, her dark hair limp across her face and shoulders. Her face is extremely pale, her eyes appearing red-rimmed and sunken somehow, her cheeks concave. Has she not been eating properly since Christian ended things with her? It appears so. As she stands from her chair, reaching for her bag, my eyes dart to the men's restrooms instinctively. Christian's still in there.

She holds my gaze as she starts approaching where I sit at the table, and I swallow thickly. Why do I get the impression that she is about to lash out at me? Hit me, even? Accuse me of stealing Christian away from her?

"You're her, aren't you?" she murmurs once she stands over me, her voice low, flat. "His soul mate?" _Soul mate._ She spits it out like it's a dirty curse-word.

I glance towards the door to the men's restroom again nervously, hesitating. "Um, yes. I'm Christian's soul mate. Are you his ex Leila? I... I think I saw you once before?"

"Has he told you?" she asks suddenly, ignoring my question. "Has he told you what I was to him?"

What she was to him? I shouldn't, but I can't help it. I need to know. "What do you mean, 'what you were to him'?" I peer at the men's restrooms again nervously, biting my lip. I need to know. I need to know what she's trying to tell me.

She must notice my edginess, the way I keep glancing at the bathroom, because she darts a look that way herself anxiously. "Here," she says quietly, and she curls up a piece of paper between her fingers, passing it down to me. I hesitate again before taking it from her. I notice her slender, bony fingers are shaking. "My numbers on there," she explains desperately. "Call me sometime." As she meets my gaze again, I'm struck by how despairing she looks, how urgent. "We should meet and talk about this. I know _he_ won't want to and I... I'm disobeying him, but..." Her voice trembles as she swallows audibly, her eyes glazing with panic, as if she's frightened what Christian would do to her if he knew. "But you should know. You deserve to know."

"I deserve to know _what,_ Leila?"

"Just call me so we can meet sometime."

Without a further glance at me, she moves quickly, rushing out of the restaurant, her head tilted down to the floor, her hair falling across her pale face in straggly strands. I wonder what she would feel the need to tell me? Something about Christian? I'm still startled by the way she looked when she mentioned that she would be disobeying him. Why did she look so fearful, as if Christian would do something terrible to her? Does she truly feel Christian is capable of hurting her?

"What's that?" My heart jumps up in my throat as I look up, frightened.

Christian's returned from the bathroom. He pulls back his chair and sits, eyeing me and the paper Leila gave me with her number on it in my hand curiously. I know it's bad, but I need to know what she wants to tell me. I need to know the reason for her reaction. I can't tell him what happened, that she was just here. I need to know what she has to say.

Deliberately, I shove my hand beneath the table, sliding the paper into my pocket with a smile. "Oh, it's nothing," I assure him quietly, but I have a feeling my voice is too hoarse, too suspiciously nervous. "I can't wait for our pancakes to arrive. I'm starving."

My heart seems to lighten when Christian leans forward, reaching for my hand. I interlace my fingers through his with my forced smile still in place, though I feel anxious over Leila. He can't know that she just approached me. I can't tell him.

 _Hope you enjoyed this one? I would like to know your thoughts and feelings as usual. I appreciate them so much!_


	16. Chapter 16

_**Shades of Black and White**_

 _"Has he told you what I was to him?"_

Christian's ex, Leila's words, keep haunting me over and over on the ride back. I cannot get over them, as well as her bizarre reaction. She seemed truly on edge and frightened at the idea of him catching her. She even seemed majorly distressed at the thought, as if he was capable of doing something terrible to her had she been caught out.

I cannot seem to get my mind off it, even sitting in the car while Christian drives us back, soft music playing on his stereo. What did she mean, had he told me what she was to him? She's his ex, obviously, and he broke up with her because he finally met me, his soul mate. I know that much. But what did she mean? And why would she be so scared at the thought of Christian knowing she'd approached me?

I peer over at Christian as he drives, trying to be discreet about it. He's preoccupied driving, his gaze focused on the road ahead of us, his handsome profile serenely distracted. I cannot imagine this man being someone that another woman would be frightened of. Could he be?

Suddenly, he glances in my direction and I turn away, my cheeks going red at being caught out.

And then he reaches over, his hand finding mine. Those delicious tingles and static sensations fill me again as he turns my hand around, interlacing his fingers through mine. He squeezes down gently, comforting. When I turn, meeting his grey gaze again as he stares at me, the smile I give him seems wrongly fake.

"Are you all right?" he asks gently. "You seem distracted?

"Yeah, I'm good," I assure him. "I'm fine. I'm just listening to the music."

"You sure?" I feel like he can almost sense that I'm not, that he can see straight through me.

I nod once, returning his hand squeeze gently, and then I have to glance away, back outside the window.

I've always hated lying. I've always despised not being truthful to someone.

And yet, here I am, trying to keep from him the fact that his ex appeared at the place where we had a delicious breakfast together? Her phone number is in my pocket, and she wants me to call her to arrange a time to meet to talk about their previous relationship. I wonder what he would do if I did go? Would he be mad?

He probably would be, considering every time I try to get information out of him about what his past relationships were like, he'll be evasive or insist that it doesn't matter, that all of that's in the past and we're the future, that we should focus on us.

But Leila, her reaction. I cannot see Christian ever being capable of doing anything violent and threatening and yet, she appeared so sincerely frightened of him? It just doesn't add up.

No matter how much I try to put it behind, to agree with what he says about it just being the past, I find I can't. I'm too curious, and Leila today, she's only heightened that curiosity, yet I feel ill with dread too about what she could possibly have to say and reveal about their time together, because of how gravely scared she was.

When we get back to his place, my head is still cramped over the events of this morning with Leila. I can tell I'm being obvious, I'm not all there. It's just so hard to be normal when I feel sick inside, sick and ill and overwhelmed with nerves.

Since I'm heading back home to my apartment that I share with Kate, I find myself relieved for some alone time while I head into the bathroom, pretending to brush my teeth and use the toilet. I shut the door, leaning against the sink, the quiet and privacy comforting.

Reaching into my pocket with my fingers, I retrieve the piece of paper Leila wrote on, spreading it out, reading the digits carefully. I don't know what to do. I feel completely lost.

On one hand, I really do want to arrange a meeting with her, to learn the reason why for her such severe reaction at the thought of Christian discovering her speaking to me. Yet, at the same time, I feel like I'd just be betraying Christian and not trusting him completely.

The sudden knock on the opposite end of the bathroom door startles me, and I gasp, immediately scrunching up the piece of paper Leila gave me in my hand again.

"Ana?" Christian calls, his voice soft with concern. "Taylor's got the car ready to drop you back off at your apartment. Are you all right in there?"

"Y-yes," I call back, then shake my head in frustration at how unconvincing I sound. I really hate this. "I'm ready now."

Turning to face the mirror, I check on my reflection, making sure I seem okay and that I don't look as guilty or suspicious as I feel. I breathe in deeply a few times, trying to curb down my anxiety before slowly reaching for the doorknob. I open the door slowly, finding Christian standing there, waiting.

The look on his face, how innocent and unsuspecting he looks as he stares at me, it almost pushes me over the edge completely. I have never been particularly good with keeping secrets, and I hate it. I can't stand looking someone in the eye while keeping something from them.

"You ready to go?" he asks, and he reaches up, covering my cheek with his hand. Those feelings infect me again at his physical touch alone, and I have to close my eyes as I reach up, covering his hand with my own, holding it to my cheek for a minute longer.

I can't do this. I just can't.

"What's wrong?" he asks gently, his thumb stroking my cheek.

I reopen my eyes slowly, risking a peek up at his face. His forehead is pinched in concern, his eyes anxious.

"Something happened this morning when you went into the bathroom," I admit, then I pull his hand away from my face. I bite my lip, staring down at the ground. It's easier if I don't have to look at him.

"What do you mean, 'something happened'?"

I reach back into my pocket, pulling the small piece of paper out. I discover my fingers are trembling when I do. I hand the piece of paper to him, assuming that will give him all that he needs to know.

When I finally muster up the courage, I peer up at him, watching his reaction as Christian unfurls the piece of paper carefully.

He lifts the piece of paper, trying to see it better so he can read the numbers on it. I see a brief moment of recognition in his eyes before he lifts his chin, peering at me, puzzled. He swallows. "Where did you get this?" he murmurs, shaking his head.

"Leila," I breathe anxiously. "Leila ended up approaching me while you went into the bathroom. She gave me her number." I gesture to the piece of paper wordlessly with my chin.

I watch as Christian breathes deeply in through his mouth. He shuts his eyes for a moment, tilting his head back slightly. When he opens his eyes again, I think I see anger in them. Anger or frustration? I'm not sure what.

"She was there?" he asks tonelessly, not looking at me.

"Yes, she was." I fold my arms over my chest protectively, feeling somehow better that way. "She wanted me to call her to set a time so that we could talk."

He runs a slow hand through his hair as he glances back down at the piece of paper again that he's holding between his thumb and forefinger. His jaw is tight, rigid. The muscles in his neck are twitching.

I think I hear him inhale in deeply through his nose. "To talk about what, Anastasia?" he murmurs. For once, I can see he's trying to reign his temper in. He's angry. Did Leila have good reason to be worried about him finding out after all?

"I'm not sure," I murmur quietly. "I think it was something about... what she was to you? She asked me if you'd told me what she was to you?" I scrutinize his face closely as he shakes his head. "Why would she need to talk to me, Christian?" I ask out loud in confusion. "Apparently she feels that there's something that she needs to tell me about regarding your relationship with her?" My voice is rising with anxiety uncontrollably.

"Don't worry," he breathes, and as he finally meets my eyes again, he gives me a tight-lipped smile. But even I can see that his smile is forced and insincere. "I'll deal with it."

"Deal with it?" I repeat shakily. I don't understand at all. "Christian, you don't need to deal with it. You can just tell me-"

"-How many times do I have to say that there's nothing to tell you?" He suddenly says loudly, waving his arm around in irritation. "How many times do I have to say that the past is in the past?"

I startle at the loud tone of his voice, shrinking back, tightening my arms over my chest. I've never heard him yell before, obviously.

I think Christian can see the error he's made himself, because he sighs loudly, his face immediately softening. "I'm sorry for raising my voice at you just then," he breathes desperately, his voice cracking. "I just wish you'd trust me and believe what I tell you."

"I _do_ trust you, Christian!" I mutter back in frustration. "It's why I never called her, even although I could have! I want to hear it from you, not her!" This is really too much for me to bear. I feel like I'm on the verge of crying, and I don't want to cry in front of him right now. "Is Taylor ready with the car?"

"Yes, he's downstairs waiting."

"Then I think I'd like to go home now," I murmur, avoiding him.

As I go to stride past him, he reaches out, trying to grab my hand, to stop me.

"Ana-" he begins urgently.

"No, don't touch me right now, Christian," I accidentally shriek, unable to help it. , Now I'm the one yelling. He recoils back himself, startled, shocked, staring at me with wide-eyes. "I'm sorry but this is too much for me right now! I need to be alone for a while!"

"For how long?" He's breathing heavily, anguished.

"I don't know." I can feel the tears beginning, and I dash them away quickly with my hand. "I just need Taylor to take me home right now."

And although it hurts, although it feels so painful, I stride past him, heading out of the room.

And that's when I freeze halfway towards the stairs when I hear his voice. For a moment, I mistakenly think he's talking to me. But he's not.

"I know what you did. Anastasia just told me."

He must be on the phone, talking to her. _To Leila._

"I thought we ended this quite amicably?" I pause, listening intently to his phone call, even though I probably shouldn't. Christian sounds so distressed, so upset. "I thought I was being fair and compassionate with you?"

There's a silence where she must be saying something on the other line.

"Yes, well, that's _my_ choice, isn't it? When I decide to tell her, I'll tell her but the decision will be _mine_! It isn't _your choice_ to make, Leila!"

 _When he decides to tell me? So there must be something then?_

"I feel like you don't want me to be happy, do you?" His voice turns bleak and drained. "For once in my life, I finally get the opportunity to have something normal, something stable in other people's eyes. You want to ruin that, don't you?"

Another silence.

"Well, you had no right," he snaps. "Don't come near her again. Don't even try to approach her ever again. Like I said, it'll be _my_ decision, not anyone else's." Another pause. "No, I don't miss it. She's enough for me, and she'll be enough from now on." I'm enough? He doesn't miss what?

I can't listen to any more of it. I just can't take it.

Propelling into action, I rush downstairs before he can find out that I've been eavesdropping, wiping my nose on my sleeve. I spot Taylor immediately by the elevator, waiting.

"Is everything okay, ma'am?" he asks, frowning. His concern almost causes me to break down completely.

"Please, take me home, Taylor," I beg. "Christian won't be coming."

XXX

I avoid further contact with Taylor as he opens the car door for me, sliding into the backseat. He shuts the door gently, then climbs into the front, and it's only when he's started driving that multiple feelings wash over me. Feelings of confusion, of grief.

This has all happened so suddenly. How did we get here so quickly?

It went from a few pretty good days together, getting to know each other, kissing, snuggling in bed, and then... this?

I just don't know what to think, but overhearing his phone call with his ex, it just confirms it. He is hiding something from me, something he's obviously frightened about me knowing. What? What could it possibly be that has him so frightened of me knowing?

My moment of staring blankly out the window is interrupted when my phone starts vibrating. I check who the caller is, and then the grief hits again, excruciatingly, poignantly.

Christian's attempting to call me, and the tears leak out of my eyes again uncontrollably.

I never thought it would be this hard, this whole soul mate thing. I thought it was supposed to be easy. Or was I just naive in thinking it would be?

I thought you met your soul mate, they give you color, and then everything is amazing. There would be no drama and no baggage. It'd just be happiness all the time and everything wouldn't be complicated, yet it's anything but that.

My mother's words of advice come back to me from on the phone...

 _"What you'll learn very early, is that just because you're soul mates, it doesn't mean it will be completely magical and smooth sailing from hereon out. It's also like a normal relationship, something I've learned since being with Ray all these years. You have to work hard at it, and then it will all eventually fall into place and get easier. I think we get too caught up in the idealization of what's to come regarding soul mates; in school, they hype it up so much, making it a fairy-tale- and in a big way, it is amazing and magical- so its a bit shocking when it becomes far different in reality than what we expected..."_

Is this what she meant when she said that to me?

That there will be fights, and previous relationship baggage?

I think, ultimately, what I truly need is some space to think. Some time away might do me some good, just for a few days. Maybe I can see my mother and my Granny Rose in Georgia?

Maybe that's exactly what I need right now to clear my head and gain a better perspective on things?

My phone vibrates in my hand again. I don't even need to check who is calling to know it's him. Realizing I can't avoid him forever, I inhale in deeply, wiping my eyes again hastily before pressing answer.

I hold the phone to my ear, breathing deeply again.

"Ana?" The tone of his voice nearly breaks me. He sounds so sad, so miserable. "Are you still in the car with Taylor?"

I can only hope I don't sound like I've been crying as I answer. "Yes, Taylor's still driving."

"I'm sorry I raised my voice at you." It's funny that he only thinks to apologize over raising his voice at me. He clearly doesn't realize he should apologize for other things as well, like keeping whatever he is keeping away from me.

"I was thinking of visiting my mother and my Granny Rose for a while in Georgia."

"Your going to visit your mother and Gran?" His breathing goes more ragged on the other line. The thought of him, really upset... it's soul crushing. "How... how long for?"

"I'm not sure. Probably a couple of days."

"I've really fucked this up, haven't I?" he says in a raw, vulnerable voice.

I take a deep breath, trying not to start crying again. Has he? I'm not sure. "I... I just wanted to let you know where I'll probably be, just in case you began to worry," I mutter. "I just... I need some time and space. Everything's been happening so... so quickly."

He starts to say something else, but I can't handle it. Before I start succumbing to weeping, I hang up hastily, ending the call.

I think it's definitely what I need. A break away and time to think.

Sun, cocktails, my mom and the soothing company of my Granny Rose. Just time away.

 **Sorry for taking so long to update this one, I was getting too invested in updating my other story Blood and Bone that I completely forgot about this one. Not sure what you'll think of the direction I've taken. This is happy ever after by the way, but as with most things, there's some drama too. Ana just needs some space, and who knows who might turn up next chapter in Georgia to meet the family? Hope you won't hate me for doing this!**


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